


In the Flames

by obsessivewriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon - Book, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Minor Jon Snow/Val, Mutual Pining, No direct depiction of rape, Prophecy, Reference to rape from book canon, Reference to rape of minor character, Slow Burn, warrior couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 208,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivewriter/pseuds/obsessivewriter
Summary: The flames of R’hllor show Melisandre that a hidden stag and a long-lost wolf must marry for Stannis to sit on the Iron Throne. At the Crossroads Inn, a man and a woman who knew each other as children meet again.Once both worlds collide, an unlikely alliance between the Baratheons and the Starks will be proposed to win back the North from the Boltons, in exchange of backing Stannis as king of the Seven Kingdoms.*Rating raised to E with chapter 5
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 2041
Kudos: 1134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayb/gifts).



> This is a book canon fic, and while I am using many things from the books, you will notice that the sequence of events don't match exactly as they happened in the books and Arya is coming back from Essos as a woman grown.  
> First thing first, thank you to the Gendrya gang because one evening we talked about Gendrya being foretold in a prophecy, and the concept clearly didn't leave my mind. Second, to Laura, Weltverbessererin, for always being my fic coach, to Holly, mayb, because of all her input for this story, I am gifting it to her, and last but not least, to Rebekha, fandomjuxtaposition, for betaing this chapter.

[ ](https://imgur.com/MW20sMo)

Melisandre fell back on her cushioned chair in front of the flames. It didn't matter how long she kept staring at them, they kept revealing the same vision she had been trying to ignore for well over a fortnight. 

Her king was getting restless, demanding information on the path they had to take after the debacle of the Battle of Blackwater. They had camped somewhere between Tumbler's Falls and Stoney Sept, trying to regroup and decide where to continue. The priestess of the Lord of Light kept inspecting the flames daily, praying to her god and presenting him with sacrifices, but R'hllor kept burning the same vision in the fires. 

_'There has to be a reason,'_ she kept thinking to herself, _'for R'hllor to show this to me.'_

She was convinced that it was a test of her faith, and she had to believe that the prophecy in the flames was the path for Stannis to sit on the Iron Throne, the fires could not be wrong. They had shown her Stannis as Azor Ahai reborn, and now, the same flames showed a different stag.

She would have to tell Stannis about the vision and devise how that revelation would ultimately bring them victory. There was no point in waiting any longer and hoping that the next day offering would deliver a different augury. She stood then, and tidied the red silk of her dress, as she schooled her face to be clear of any sign of uncertainty. She marched then to Stannis' tent and waited as she was announced.

"Lady Melisandre, come in at once," the self-proclaimed king summoned her. "Tell me he has shown you the way."

Melisandre came in, and after a short curtsey, she said, "the Lord of Light has graced me with a vision of his design."

"A vision, you say? I need a route, a path, a direction at least, godsdamn it!"

His choice of words unsettled her, as her king was always composed.

"The Lord of Light does not doubt," Melisandre replied, with her chin held high. "He shows us what must come to pass to attain the victory that he has reserved for you."

"Do not make me waste any more time, tell me what the flames showed you."

"A prophecy."

"Tell it to me."

Melisandre looked up to her king, and taking a breath she spoke with aplomb, "The hidden stag and the long-lost wolf shall meet at a crossroads, but the wolf will not charge the stag. Instead, they are to lie together on a promise made long before their time, and their lair shall be the blood-covered snow."

When she finished, she kept looking directly at her king, willing her eyes to remain open, not blinking until he spoke. Stannis remained unmoving, and after a while, he breathed loudly, looked to the side, and shook his head as he grinned crookedly.

"What does it mean?" He finally asked, "tell me you know what this means and how knowing it will help me win my crown."

"I've studied this prophecy, and I believe it means that there must be a marriage alliance between your house and the Starks."

"And how do you _believe_ there can be a marriage alliance, when there are no more Stark heirs left to marry the princess Shireen, _pray tell_."

"Your grace, I do not think the prophecy refers to the princess. The vision is clear that it is a stag and a she-wolf that must mate."

"Will you mock me for my lack of sons too, woman?"

"No, not all, my king. There is an answer to this, a way to pave the path for you to sit on the Iron Throne once and for all. Your late brother sowed his seed far and wide."

"And the Lannister bastard made sure to have all his illegitimate children killed."

"There is one, a nephew of yours, who survived the culling."

"A bastard."

"One that you can recognize and name as your heir."

"What would stop him from taking the throne from me, claiming it his birthright?"

"If you recognize him as _your_ adoptive son, and not your brother's, he will be your heir and not his. You can have him as the heir to Storm's End once you have taken the Seven Kingdoms. And once you take your rightful place, the Lord of Light is sure to reward you with many sons. He'd be easily cast aside then, so you can send him with his bride to Winterfell, and rest assured that the North will not stray."

"And what Stark shall wed him? Lady Sansa is already wed to the Imp and lost, and the other one was wedded and bedded by the Bolton recently legitimized heir."

"A false Stark, according to the flames. The younger girl was hidden away in the East and is now walking on Westerosi soil as we speak. We must find her and wed her to your nephew at once."

"You know where we can find them?"

"Yes, my king. In the place where the stag downed the dragon."

* * *

It hadn't yet been a moon turn since the ship from Braavos had docked in White Harbor. The woman who had once been Arya Stark traveled lightly. She didn't carry much beyond what she wore and a small satchel at her shoulder, with a simple change of clothes, a few coins, a handful of faces, and the three vials from the poisoned pool that she stole from the House of Black and White. 

At her hip, her Needle, always at the ready. 

It didn't take long after arriving to learn what had happened in her absence, beyond the scarce stories that came to Essos, songs were aplenty in every tavern at the port in White Harbor where she disembarked. There was much to process, but mayhaps what she was most surprised about were the stories that involved Arya Stark: the very recent nuptials of Ramsey Bolton to her and a previously failed betrothal to the twenty-second son of her mother and brother's killer. Her mind was made then, knowing that before heading to Winterfell, she had to visit the Twins. It took her ten days to cross the Neck through the causeway, but her prayer had waited long already.

As she approached the Twins, she heard more stories, of the lady that sought revenge, and the carnage left in her stead, of Lannisters and Freys. Barely a night after she had left the Twins, heading south towards King's Landing, news started to spread of Walder Frey dying in his sleep. By the time she reached the Trident, there was already gossip, trying to determine which one of his remaining sons had poisoned him to inherit, as they had started killing each other for their father's title. She didn't have time to dwell on that. Instead, she mourned the gift of mercy that she had to dispense.

The Inn at the Crossroads looked precisely as she remembered it, a far cry from what it had been when she had stopped there with the royal retinue, and she lost Nymeria, but far better than her last stop with the Hound. The sudden nostalgia caught her off guard, and she felt the pull towards a place she had not given a thought since the last time she had set foot there. _'It won't hurt to get one good night of rest,'_ she thought, trying to convince herself that the decision had nothing to do with longing.

When the traveler walked into the place, a brown-haired girl that appeared to be of an age with her was there to greet her.

"Are you here for a meal or a bed?" The girl was quick to ask.

"Both if I got enough coin."

"I'm sure you do, we don't charge much."

She pulled a coin from her satchel and placed it on the table.

"I got this, and if not, I'm good at hunting, if you are in need of meat."

"Willow, take her on her offer, I'm tired of eating squirrels."

Both women turned to look at the young boy who had come in without them noticing him. 

"Shush, Ben," said the girl that she had just learned was named Willow, chiding him and then turning back to the newcomer. "This is enough, please sit while I bring you a bowl of stew and some ale."

The girl who had once been Arya Stark walked behind the boy, who showed her to a free table. 

"Can I see your sword?" he asked her when she placed it in front of her.

"It's called Needle." 

"It's small," he said, surely never having seen a sword of those dimensions.

"I _am_ small," she explained, "and yet, we both kill well enough. But I reckon you're right. My brother gave it to me when I was a child, and unfortunately, I haven't yet found a blacksmith to fashion me a bigger one."

Once again, nostalgia hit her hard in the gut.

The boy seemed to brighten with a thought, "You can always ask Gendry,"

"Gendry?" She asked, hoping that her tone of voice didn't betray the trepidation at hearing a name from her past.

"He's our blacksmith."

"And this blacksmith of yours, is he here?"

"He's in the smithy in the back."

"Could you tell Willow that I will eat my food in a little bit, I'm afraid that consulting your blacksmith about a weapon is far more important."

* * *

As she approached the smithy, in the back of the inn, she could hear the sound of the hammer hitting the steel. It sounded familiar, like the sounds of her long lost childhood, of Maester Luwin knocking on the table while he taught her and Bran, or Septa Mordane's scolding her when she talked too much during needle practice. No, those sounds were not as pleasant as this one. The sound of the steel singing sounded more like the noises in the kitchens of Winterfell, of arrows hitting their mark, or her father telling a story, while he sat by the heart tree, polishing Ice.

As she got closer, she noticed something else punctuating every blow against the anvil, a dead voice from her past. The tone was lower, sterner, but the same, though the words it recited were not.

_Clang… "Cersei Lannister"…Clang… "Dunsen"…Clang… "Ser Ilyn Payne"…Clang… "Raff the Sweetling"…Clang… "Ser Meryn Trant"…Clang… "The Mountain"…Clang… "The Hound"…Clang… "Walder Frey"…Clang… "Roose Bolton"…Clang… "Ramsey Bolton"…Clang… "Cersei Lannister"…Clang…_

It took no time to recognize the names recited after every beat. Names she had repeated in her prayer uncountable times. _'Valar Morghulis'_ caught in her throat along with something else, but she swallowed a couple of times to make it pass. There were new names added to the list, and yet, intimately tied to her.

"Some of them are already dead," she said once she was standing behind him, his back turned to her.

The hammer came down to his side when he heard her voice, and then, it fell to the ground with a thud. Gendry had to take a breath before turning around to face the ghost from a past life. 

"Is that so?"

"From what I've heard, Oberyn Martell killed the Mountain in King's Landing. The Hound died of an infected wound not far from here," she recounted. Then, she took a long sigh before continuing, "Raff the Sweetling died in Braavos, and Walder Frey passed recently in his sleep, though the rumors say someone poisoned him, money is on one of his many sons since they all have been killing each other to become the heir."

Gendry nodded, taking in the information, and then spoke, "I'll make sure to take them out of the list then."

They stayed there, looking at each other in silence, taking in all the ways there were still who they remembered, but most of all, noticing all how they were not.

"Ramsey Bolton?" She finally asked, without needing to say anything else.

"They say he married you and took your home."

"I heard that as well, but I'm afraid I was not invited to the wedding."

Gendry huffed and smiled softly, "I always suspected it was not you."

"Keep him on the list, though."

It was then that they walked to each other, and once close enough, they joined in an awkward and too brief of an embrace.

"Arya."

It took a moment for her to feel that _'Arya'_ was really her name, after so long.

"I feared you had died," he said, looking down.

"So little faith you had in me?"

He let out a sad laugh.

"I should have-"

"Let's not talk about it just yet," Arya interrupted him. "I'm hungry and tired. I was about to eat when Ben mentioned Gendry their blacksmith. Care to join me?"

"Lead the way," he said, and as the words left his lips, he felt they meant more than just walking back to the inn.

* * *

Gendry introduced Arya to the Heddle sisters and the orphans, and Jeyne made sure to serve her the best meal she'd had since she walked once more on Westerosi soil. Both sisters seemed surprised to meet a friend of Gendry's and jested that they were sure he didn't like anyone. 

He had remained quiet during the meal, as the children asked all sorts of questions, and once Arya disclosed she had been living in Essos, they seemed enraptured about everything she had to say as if the place she talked about was shrouded in magic. Arya shared with them bits and pieces about the Titan of Braavos, and words in Braavosi that the kids found funny, but nothing particular about her life during the years there. After a while, when the meal was over, Jeyne and Willow stood up to clear the plates. Arya had tried to help, but the eldest of the sisters had ordered her to sit and get reacquainted with Gendry, while Willow chastised the children about getting ready for bed. Only until both women disappeared from the main room, heading to the kitchens, Arya spoke.

"Which one of them is your woman?"

The mouthful of stew in Gendry's mouth went the wrong way at the question and prompted a coughing fit.

"Or maybe it is that both of them warm your bed?"

Gendry took a large sip of ale, and then he beat on his chest with his fist, as Arya eyed him suspiciously until he recovered.

"None of them!"

Arya seemed unsatisfied with his answer, "I find that hard to believe."

"How so?"

"You've been here playing house with them and the children, and you don't bed either of them, despite the way they look at you?"

"I'm not playing house."

"So you just decided to stay and take care of a houseful of children that are not yours?"

Gendry leaned back on his seat and said, "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I recall a time when you proposed we leave _them_ all behind."

Arya did not have to specify the names of those he was willing to leave to their deaths. Yet, each one of them was clear in his mind's eye, and heavy in his heart.

"It's true. I'm not proud of that," Gendry looked down as he spoke, and after a deep sigh, he looked back at her. "You, on the other hand, used to have a penchant for collecting those to care for. Mayhaps it is my way to atone, for not caring about anyone but myself."

"You could have left me when I refused to leave, but you stayed with me and the rest."

Those memories felt heavy in his chest, and so he chose to turn the conversation elsewhere.

"I'm not bedding either of the Heddles. If they were ever interested, I've never cared enough to notice."

It was Arya's turn to lean back and cross her arms.

"You're too stupid to see that either one would welcome you to their bed."

Gendry got defensive at her words, "How would you know that? What do you know about fucking?"

"Well, I'm not blind! You are the only one who has always thought I'm still a little girl that spends her days in her sewing room. In case you don't remember, fucking was all around us while we were traveling through the war-torn Riverlands, and it's not like it was any different once we parted."

"Where were you?" he asked, suddenly feeling a heavy burden in his mind.

"In Braavos, I've already told you that."

"Will you ever tell me more?"

"Mayhaps."

That night, after Gendry left for his bed in the smithy, and Arya had gone upstairs and barred the room assigned to her, she stayed awake for hours, despite her exhaustion. For the first time in a very long time, she allowed herself to think back to a life spent on the kingsroad and the boy who almost looked like a man grown that had kept her secrets. Unbeknownst to her, Gendry stayed up in his narrow bed as well, plagued by memories of a small girl, covered in dirt and pretending to be what she was not. Sometime during the night, the images in his head turned to those of a woman grown with captivating grey eyes.

* * *

Arya had only planned on staying one night at the Crossroads Inn, but the next day she had been in no hurry to leave, and instead, she had shown the children a sequence of water dance movements, that they were only too eager to copy with sticks they picked up, pretending they were real swords. Gendry watched from the entrance to the smithy, leaning on the door and smiling at Arya correcting their form. 

"Gendry, come train with us!" Will called to him.

He shook his head and replied, "I'm too big for that water dance style. Arya will tell you that I am terrible."

"Maybe not water dance, but surely you've gotten better wielding a sword. The Brotherhood had to have taught you a thing or two. And Willow and Jeyne tell me you've protected them and the children many times."

"My technique is not pretty like yours, but it has kept us safe."

"Water dance is not about looking pretty. It is deadly, and it is precise."

"Is that so?" He jested with a crooked smile.

By then, all the orphan children had stopped their movements, and they seemed mesmerized at their conversation. 

"Why don't you grab one of those swords you make and come spar with me then?"

Gendry disappeared behind the door, and came back, holding on to a sword, and once he got closer to Arya, he twirled it in his hand, prompting Arya to raise an eyebrow at the display of confidence.

"You'll have to go easy on me," he cautioned her, "or these ones will never respect me."

"Don't go easy on him, Arya!" Tansy was quick to reply.

"Traitor," Gendry replied, looking at her with such a severe face, that the girl hid behind Pate.

"Why should I go easy with you, I know how strong you are."

"Well, I know how quick you are."

With that Arya stood side face, and noticing, Gendry mimicked her, making one of the corners of her mouth curl just slightly, which in turn made something soften in him. 

Gendry advanced towards her, swung the hand holding the sword, which Arya quickly dodged, twisting her body, keeping both hands still behind her. Gendry soon turned the momentum of his hand, into a new offensive, which she easily avoided with a jump back.

He then walked around, sword down and shaking his head at his misses. 

"What is it? Tired already?"

"No, I just thought that sparring implied use of your blade, and not just weaseling about."

"Give me something worth my while then."

At her taunting, he charged, feinting a blow from his left, but then coming from his right. Arya finally brought her Needle forward and deflected the blow, sliding the skinny blade along his. 

"Happy now?"

"Just getting started."

The children were enthralled with their sparring, observing as they seemed to dance, taking turns charging forward, and taking steps back. Arya twisted sideways, jumped and ducked, avoiding the blows of Gendry's sword, getting the man to spend a lot of energy in the process. At times, Gendry seemed to have the upper hand when he attacked with less force and more strategy, and both of them knew, without having to say it, that Needle was not built to block a hard blow from a broadsword without suffering damage. Instead, it was made to deflect and to deliver a precise puncture direct to the heart. 

Nevertheless, they continued their sparring, Arya's cheeks became flushed with her effort, and Gendry's thin shirt stuck to his torso with his sweat. At their next bout, Gendry twirled his sword and launched his assault from above, and Arya attempted to deflect, crossing the blades close to their guards, but Gendry's other hand came to her wrist keeping it still. Arya threw her weight against him, trying to free her Needle, but Gendry feet were well planted on the ground, and the only thing that was achieved, was both of them realizing just how close their bodies were. Gendry's heat radiated through his clothes, and it took Arya back to cold nights when she'd huddle against him to keep from freezing. Both were panting by then, and as Gendry looked down, he was able to see that her linen shirt had pulled slightly to the side, revealing a dark freckle on the swell of a breast that had not been there the last time he laid eyes on her before she escaped the Brotherhood, and he never saw her again. 

They stayed in a stalemate for a few moments, with chests heaving, and while Gendry was distracted with the sight of her creamy skin, Arya kicked his foot, making him fall on his arse. 

"Do you yield, _Ser_?" She asked, with the tip of her Needle barely grazing his neck.

"Aye, I yield, _m'lady_ ," he replied, making Arya's complaint at the nickname drown in the thunderous cheers from the orphans. 

When Jeyne came out of the inn and yelled for the children to go back to their chores, Arya extended her hand to Gendry, and she helped him get back on his feet.

"You've gotten better," she declared.

"How is knocking me on my arse any better?"

"You may not be graceful, but you wield that sword better than I remembered."

Gendry shrugged and replied, "A bit stupid to have spent my life making swords and mending them, and not learned how to use them. At least I can be grateful for my time with the Brotherhood for that."

"Maybe it's time for you to make me a new sword."

"Finally figured out that toothpick is too small for you?"

Arya lifted her thin rapier and stared at it for a while.

"I will never part with Needle, but I do not want to chance it bending or breaking."

"I'll see what I can come up with. Here, give her to me," he asked, extending his hand.

Arya handed him her prized possession and saw him study it and test its weight.

"I reckon I could make you something similar, but the right size for your current height. You may still be tiny, but this is a child's sword."

Arya took Needle back from him and said, scrunching her face, "and you still stink of sweat."

Gendry just laughed, as Arya walked away from him, unable to hide the hint of a smile on her lips.

* * *

A day away from the Crossroads Inn, a retinue marched towards it, brandishing the banners of the crowned black stag inside the fiery heart of the Lord of Light. The procession was led there by a woman dressed in clothes as red as her hair, searching for the wolf and the stag she had seen in her flames. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya stays one more day at the Crossroads Inn and goes hunting with Gendry.  
> Stannis and his retinue arrive at the Inn. A prophecy is shared, and Arya and Gendry must make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to I_Contain_Multitudes for betaing this chapter.
> 
> For clarification, Arya should be around 17 coming back to Westeros. While I'm taking battles and information from canon, they do not follow the same timing as in the books. 
> 
> Hope you like this one.

[ ](https://imgur.com/4KWM32G)

Arya didn’t leave the day after.

She opened her eyes in her room at the inn and stared at the ceiling still in the dark. There was no pull south to cross another name from her prayer, nor to the north either. Instead, she did feel a pull towards the woods.

Downstairs, the inn was already awake with the Heddle sisters busy in the kitchen, aided just by the older children. Arya asked Jeyne for a bow, intending to go hunting, which made Ben rejoice. While the Heddles explained there was no need, as she was a friend of Gendry’s, Arya was adamant about her wish to help, and then, she made a point about how the idea of going into the woods with just a bow and her thoughts was something very much needed. Jeyne then suggested she go ask Gendry for a bow and quiver. 

In the forge, Gendry was gearing up to start working the bellows to get the flames going, despite the sun barely breaking. He set the tools on the workbench and cleaned his hands on his apron before he went to fetch what she had asked for. When he emerged from the smithy, as Arya waited outside, he was wearing his leather jerkin and carrying not only a bow and quiver for her, but the same for him as well.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Hunting, with you.”

“I do not need help.”

“I know that. Would you care for some company then?”

“Fine, but try to do something with those heavy footfalls of yours, I’ve heard you tend to catch only squirrels.”

“I don’t only get squirrels!”

Arya found herself smiling at his exasperated tone.

“That’s not what Ben says.”

“Well, Ben’s got a big mouth.”

They walked away from the village in silence toward the wooded area in the direction of the mountains. Only when they were deep in the forest, Arya felt the yearning inside her settle. 

They walked around in silence until they found a small clearing where Arya spotted some rabbits, and with a look and a finger held in front of her mouth, she signaled to Gendry what she had found. They both drew an arrow from the quiver and nocked it on their bows. The strings were pulled, and after a shared look, they both released at the same time, hitting their marks. Arya quickly readied another one and was able to shoot one as it fled. 

Gendry walked to pick up the rabbits and pulled the arrows off them. Holding them by the hind legs, he tied them together and walked back to where Arya was standing.

“Ben will be pleased.”

Arya pulled a waterskin from her jerkin and took a sip, and after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she passed it on to Gendry, who did the same, handing it back.

When she turned to head back to the inn, Gendry finally asked the question he had meant to make, “What happened to you when the Hound took you?”

Arya stopped, and after taking a deep breath, she turned back.

“How do you know about that?”

“I didn’t, at first. When I realized you were gone, I alerted Beric and told him I was going after you, he told the others to help. We were out all night calling your name.”

“I heard you,” Arya replied, looking down.

She had been moving her boot on the dirt. She sat down on the ground, resting her back against the trunk of a tree. She didn’t have to ask Gendry as he came to join her. 

“A fortnight later, we started hearing stories of the Hound, traveling with a small boy. I knew it was you.”

“It was.”

“What happened then?”

“He was going to ransom me to my family. We went to the Twins.”

“The Red Wedding?”

Arya simply nodded and looked at the waterskin still in her hands.

“I thought that he’d take you there, and when we heard about what happened… I blamed myself for your death. But then, no one spoke of a Stark daughter killed there, so I started having hope that you lived.”

“I did. But I saw it all…What they did to my brother.”

Gendry had heard the stories, and he turned to face her then, right in time to see one tear escaping her eye and rolling down her cheek. There was something in him that wanted to reach out and brush the tear away with his thumb, but before he had time to understand the meaning of it, Arya had already done it.

“How did you end up in Braavos?” he asked, changing the topic.

“I left the Hound as he was dying. I went to Saltpans and tried to get on a ship to go North, but the only ship I could find was bound to Braavos. I used a coin from Jaqen.”

She didn’t have to explain anymore, nor did Gendry ask questions about the man.

“What did you do there?”

Arya huffed, “What didn’t I do in Braavos?”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“I was an urchin, a beggar, a blind girl, a mummer, a cat… The only thing I wasn’t was Arya Stark.”

There were many things he could have asked, and many more she feared he would. Instead, he remained quiet, pulling at the strands of grass next to him.

“Were you… safe?” His low voice finally asked.

“I am here, am I not?”

They were both unsatisfied by her answer, and yet, neither dared to go further than that.

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” She asked, looking to her side and letting her chin rest on her own shoulder.

“Because you didn’t have to do it alone,” he replied, turning to lock his eyes with hers.

She could have answered and said that there was no point in thinking that, but she felt something else, something furtive all around them.

“Let’s get back.”

* * *

When they were close enough to the inn, some of the kids ran to them, and they were excited when they saw Gendry carrying the rabbits. He traded Arya, taking the bow and quiver, and handing her the result of their hunt. He then headed back to the smithy. 

In the kitchen, Jeyne seemed pleased with the rabbits, and each of the three women took one and started skinning it. Arya enjoyed the mindlessness of the labor, the three of them exchanging a minimum of words about the vegetables they had, and the leftovers that they could add to the stew. Soon, Arya was busy chopping carrots and then stirring the simmering sauce.

Her contentment was suddenly interrupted, just a fraction of a moment before Tansy, Jon Penny, and Pate came running into the kitchen, a hollowness in her chest ripping her from her lull. 

“Riders! They’re coming!” One of the kids announced, prompting the women to come outside.

Jeyne, as the innkeeper, stood ahead of all of them, using her hand to shield herself from the sunlight. The riders were approaching, close enough that Arya could clearly see the sigil on their banners: a crowned black stag, in the middle of a heart in flames. 

There were five riders at the front, and behind them, a carriage, flanked by knights. At the very front was a woman, dressed all in fine red silk, her head obscured by a hooded cloak. Arya had seen them before, in Braavos, men and women dressed only in red, and images of the heart on fire. 

Only then, Arya noticed Gendry had come out of his forge, soot and sweat staining his skin, with his fist tightly clenched around his hammer, and the same surly face that had earned him the nickname of _‘bull’_ all those years before. 

The riders dismounted, and the woman lowered her hood, revealing a head of hair as red as her robes.

Red had been her mother’s hair, and red her sister’s, but hers was something else. 

“Are you looking for shelter, m’lords, m’lady? We’ve got featherbeds,” Jeyne called.

“Among other things,” the woman in red spoke. “But first, kneel to your king, Stannis Baratheon, first of his name.”

Arya recognized the name. She had never met old King Robert’s brother Stannis, but she had heard plenty about him while she lived in King’s Landing. She turned slightly to look at Gendry, and her head nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

With that, she went down to her knees. Gendry quickly followed, as well as the Heddle sisters, and then the children that had come outside, though the youngest ones didn’t understand what was happening and remained standing. 

“Welcome to the Crossroads Inn, your grace,” Jeyne greeted him.

“Stand up. We’ll be requiring room and board for us, and my wife and daughter. As well as for my king's men and the queen's men. My army will be setting camp not far from here,” the king informed them. “ _Boy_ , take our horses.”

As she was standing up, Arya was able to see the tension in Gendry’s jaw, but dropping his hammer on the ground he went and took the reigns from the king and the woman in red, and he signaled for Ben, Will and Jon Penny to help him stable the rest of the horses.

As he walked, the red woman stared at him with curiosity, while Stannis seemed to eye him with more disdain than the usual highborn disgust for the lowborn. Gendry paid no mind, he had felt scorn like that before, and he had plenty of hatred of his own for men of his kind.

After making sure all the horses were stabled, and they had water and straw, he walked inside through the kitchens, and peeking in, he was able to see into the common room. The self-proclaimed king sat at a table, with the red woman to his right, and a bearded man to his left. The rest of the riders had stayed outside guarding the entrance, while the wife and daughter that he had mentioned were nowhere to be found. Gendry suspected they had been sent upstairs to the nicer rooms with the featherbeds. Only the Heddles and Arya stood in front of them. 

“You’re the innkeeper,” the man in charge said to Jeyne.

“I am, this inn has been in my family for generations.”

“This one is your sister,” the red woman said, pointing at Willow. But then, she looked towards Arya and said, “Not this one.”

“You two, go back to the kitchen,” the king said, commanding the Heddles, who quickly curtsied and left the room. As they went into the kitchen, they saw Gendry, and he gestured for them to keep quiet.

“You’re a Northerner,” Stannis stated.

“What makes you so sure, _your grace_?”

He eyed her carefully before replying, “You have the look.”

“You’ve met a lot of Northerners, then?”

“A few, but you look exactly like your father.”

“And who might that be?” Arya asked in reply, with feigned curiosity.

Stannis huffed in his seat. 

“You have Ned Stark’s long face. Tell me, are you as solemn and honorable as he was?”

Arya stood there, unflinching.

“You are the lost Stark,” the red woman spoke then.

“She is in Winterfell, with her Bolton husband,” was Arya’s response.

"I didn’t say which one of the Starks sisters,” she replied with a calculated smile on her face.

Arya just shrugged and declared, “If it’s not her, then it is the one who fled King’s Landing. The one they say poisoned King Joffrey.”

“A _false_ king,” the red woman was quick to point out.

“Plenty of those going around,” Arya replied nonchalantly. 

The bearded man sitting next to Stannis coughed at her reply, but the king remained unmoving, though Arya noticed a slight tension on his jaw.

“The only true king is Stannis of House Baratheon,” the woman cautioned her.

“If he is, he’s far from his throne.”

“That is the reason why we came here,” Stannis spoke then.

“No thrones here, that I know of,” Gendry suddenly said, getting everyone’s attention as he entered the room, and making the red woman smile in a way that unsettled Arya.

“What do you know of House Baratheon, _blacksmith_?” the king interrogated him, noticing his bracers, apron, and the soot on his face.

“Not much, just that the old king came from it. They said that he fucked half the kingdom, and probably sired a quarter of it.”

“You have no respect for your late king.”

There was no question in the strange woman’s words.

“He never had much respect for anyone, as far as I know,” Gendry replied with blunt honesty, but then looked toward the king. “No disrespect, m’lord.”

Stannis huffed, “I never had much respect for my brother either. But make no mistake, _boy_. I am not your lord. I am your _king_.”

“Pardon me, your grace.”

“You don’t have much respect for your father either,” the woman continued her interrogation.

“No, I don’t, but I never knew my father. And he disrespected my mother enough to make me before he fucked off.”

“That much is true, my brother had much fondness of women, high and low. Your mother was lowborn,” King Stannis added. “Tell me, was she a tavern wench or a whore?”

Gendry laughed, “she worked at an alehouse, but might as well have been a whore. I don’t remember her enough to find offense in your words, your grace.”

The king didn’t look insulted at Gendry’s tone, far from it, Arya noticed. Instead, a smug smile spread on his face.

“Whatever she was, you should feel proud to know she must have been fair to have been bedded by a king.”

The words sank in Arya first, “You mean to say…?”

“What’s all that to me?” Gendry asked.

“Don’t you see it yet, blacksmith? King Stannis is your uncle, and King Robert was your father,” the tone in the woman’s voice showed the satisfaction in revealing this information.

There was no question that everything had fallen into place, years of questionings, and persecution finally making sense.

“No, that’s not true! My father was just a drunk who fucked my mother and didn’t stay enough to see me swell in her belly!”

“That is true. Though, that drunk was the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” the king replied.

Gendry remained silent for a while, looking down.

“You came here looking for me?”

It was the woman who replied, “We came here looking for _you two_ , a hidden Baratheon and a long-lost Stark, here, together, at a crossroads.”

“What do you intend to do with us? Burn us to your god?” Arya asked.

The red woman beamed at the subtle change in Arya’s tone, and then spoke, “What do you know of R’hllor, _child_?”

“In Braavos, I saw enough priests and priestesses of the Red God. I know of your fires.”

The woman stood and walked towards them both. 

“My name is Melisandre of Asshai. I am a priestess of the Lord of Light.”

She got close to Gendry and ran a finger over his jaw.

“You are right. There is magic in king’s blood,” she said, and then turned to Arya. “And in the blood of the first men.”

She then walked back and retook her seat. 

“We’re not here for your blood or to burn you. R’hllor showed us the way here to make sure his prophecy is fulfilled.”

“What prophecy?” Arya asked.

Melisandre then recited the words that she knew by heart, “The hidden stag and the long-lost wolf shall meet at a crossroads, but the wolf will not charge the stag. Instead, they are to lie together on a promise made long before their time, and their lair shall be the blood-covered snow."

Gendry was the first to ask, “What does it mean?”

Arya couldn’t know how many of the symbols on Melisandre’s words were obvious to Gendry, but for her, there was no mistake about their meaning.

The Lady Melisandre may have said she was not there to bleed or burn them.

But they were to be a sacrifice, nonetheless.

“A marriage alliance,” Arya said.

“She’s a clever girl,” the bearded man who had been sitting next to Stannis finally spoke, shaking his head, seemingly entertained.

“Not now, Ser Davos,” Melisandre chided him. 

“You mean between us?” Gendry asked, clearly surprised. “I’m a bastard.”

“You are, but if my king wills it, he can have you legitimized, and take you in as his adoptive son. You will finally be able to take the name of your father.”

Gendry turned to look at Arya, and there was something in her eyes, something softening, that he couldn’t quite understand. That was enough to let himself imagine, and his eyes widened at the possibility, but then he had looked back at the newcomers, seeing the ambition and secrets in their eyes. The same look he had always seen in other highborn eyes. 

He felt his face harden.

“Why would we do it?”

“The Lord of Light wills it. The will of R’hllor must be done, and it is that Stannis shall rule the Seven Kingdoms as its rightful king. Your marriage is in the path of victory designed by the Lord of Light. He showed it to me in the flames ”

Gendry knew about the Lord of Light. He had seen with his own eyes how Thoros had brought back Lord Beric, and then he had seen the Lady Stoneheart and knew that she had been raised by Beric’s kiss, trading his last life for hers. The Lord of Light was the only god whose power he had ever witnessed, and yet, that god had never done anything to show him he was part of his plans.

“Funny that,” Gendry said with a huff. “I’ve been staring into the flames my whole life, and it never showed me no prophecy.”

He didn’t say it, but a voice in his head whispered that it was a lie. There was only one thing he ever saw in the flames, and it was Arya’s face showing her disappointment when he decided to stay with the Brotherhood. _‘If there really is such a thing as the Lord of Light, the only thing he ever wanted to show me was my shame.’_

“We’re not to know his ways until he’s ready to reveal them. R'hllor wills you both to join and bring forth his plan.”

“I do not care about your god, and I do not care for his plans or yours. I care about my home. I care about the North,” Arya said.

“Do his bidding for that then,” Melisandre countered. “We are headed for the North, and we intend to take it back from the Boltons. Ser Davos received a call from help from the Wall.”

That last bit got Arya’s attention, and dread for her brother tightened in her throat.

Ser Davos spoke then, “The Night’s Watch sent ravens to all the regions asking for help. Stannis is the only one who is heeding the call.”

Arya’s reaction had not been lost on Melisandre, and she found the right moment to bite again, “Would you do it then? Accept the alliance, and Stannis’ army will help you reclaim your home, on the promise that you will back his claim.”

Stannis didn’t wait for a reply and instead addressed Gendry, “Don’t be stupid, _nephew_. I am offering you more than you ever had, more than you ever dreamed of.”

“Since I can remember, I’ve known that nothing is given away freely. The sweeter you’re trying to make the reward, the steeper the price.”

Ser Davos spoke again, “Mayhaps, if you don’t mind me saying it, you two have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you think about it today, and we can talk more on the morrow?”

The king did not look pleased, but the red woman whispered in his ear, her eyes never leaving Gendry’s.

* * *

Arya had gone to her room, too much in her head and her heart. She lay down on the bed and thought of the past. She let herself feel the dread once more, of the gold cloaks coming for them on the kingsroad and the realization that it was not just her they were after.

Past supper time, there was a knock on her door, and opening it, she found Ben there, holding a plate and a cup for her.

“Willow told me to get you this since you did not come down for supper. She said you went hunting for us, and it was not fair that you didn’t get anything.”

“Did Gendry eat?”

“He didn’t. He’s been banging that hammer of his for hours, even though it’s long since it got dark.”

“Thank you, Ben, I think I’ll bring this to the smithy and share it with him. The stupid man will collapse out of pure stubbornness.”

Ben didn’t laugh at her dig at Gendry and instead looked nervously around.

“That woman…”

“What about her?”

“She’s one of them, ain’t it? From the Lord of Light?”

“What do you know about the Lord of Light?”

“Not much. Just that Gendry believes in it.”

“Does he?”

“He told me of the Lightning Lord, and how the Lord of Light brought him back six times.”

“Well, thank you for this Ben, let’s go to the kitchen and see if we can find something else for Gendry.”

* * *

When she got to the smithy, she could hear Gendry still banging the steel despite the late hour, he was reciting the list of names, but his voice was as low as a whisper.

She went inside without knocking, leaving the bundles in her hands on the table. When he turned around, he didn’t look surprised to see her. 

“What’s that?”

“Supper for you and I. Shame to have gone hunting just to feed the king and his people.”

“Three rabbits wouldn’t have gone far.”

“Jeyne gave Willow some coins and sent her to the village to get more meat and vegetables. At least his visit brought the Heddles more income. It can’t be easy feeding so many mouths.”

“We get by. The upside of war is that there is always someone who needs their sword or their armor mended. And I’ve made a bit of coin with daggers for protection. Otherwise, shoeing horses wouldn’t be enough.”

Arya stared while he dipped a rag in a bucket of water and used it to wipe the sweat and soot from his hands and face. He looked tired and was panting, letting his previous exertion get to him. 

“You’ve been working yourself to death. Doubt anything you’re working on demands it.”

“I had a lot to think about.”

“Finding out you’re Robert Baratheon’s bastard?”

“What difference does it make?” He replied with a shrug. “Never would have mattered if I had known. It only matters now when someone needs something from me.”

“Fuck your uncle and his ambition. What about the other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“What that woman said she saw in the flames.”

Gendry grunted, “So you want to do this? Marry me because a man claims to be my uncle, and a witch says they saw something in the flames?”

“My question was if you wanted that, being a believer of R’hllor and all that?”

“Who told you that?” Gendry asked, knitting his eyebrows, but quickly answering his own question. “It was Ben, wasn’t it?”

“So, do you believe in the Lord of Light or not?”

“No! I mean, yes, and no. And…”

“I’m listening,” she said, walking towards his cot and sitting with her back against the wall, her legs folded in front of her.

“Argh… Fine! Hear me out,” He acquiesced, running his hands through his hair and pacing the room. I’ve seen what the Lord of Light can do. You know this, you were there as well. Thoros bringing Beric back. I’m not going to say that I am like them, a devout believer. All my life, I never believed in the gods, old or new. Truth is the gods don’t care for the poor. _‘Pray on your knees for this thing, sacrifice a lamb for that,’_ In Flea Bottom, it never mattered. Dead is dead. And faith doesn’t fill your belly, no matter how much you pray.”

“Until the Brotherhood.”

Her words stopped his pacing, making him scrunch his eyes.

“Aye. The Brotherhood. You were right about them in the end. And I didn’t realize it then, but the Brotherhood showed me something that I could belong to.”

“You were part of my pack already.”

He didn’t have to look her way to know there was reproach in her words.

“I was, yes, but how long would I have stayed there? I’m not saying I was right to do what I did, but I knew our time together was coming to an end. We were to deliver you to your king brother soon, and your lady mother. And I’m sure they’d be grateful, because we were friends and we shared our food and our shelter, but what then? How soon before your brother would give me a scolding for being too friendly with a princess of the North?”

“Robb was different.”

“Mayhaps,” he said with a sad smile. “You Northerners are different, certainly, but tell me that your lady mother wouldn’t have something to say about our friendship.”

Arya sighed and took a moment to think of her mother. She also thought about the betrothal that had been brokered for her while she had been Arry. 

“I didn’t know it at the time, but I was to marry a Frey.”

“A Frey?”

“Elmar Frey.”

Gendry’s eyes looked up to another time. 

“Wasn’t he that squire in Harrenhal?”

“Yes. Who would have known that I spoke to the man that I would have been married to if things had gone differently?”

Arya grinned, and Gendry couldn’t quite understand why she’d find that funny. But just as easy as the grin had come, it had disappeared.

“I have thought of that plenty since I came back, and I learned about it. I wondered if I would have fled that marriage. It’s harder to decide when the North and my family depended on it. More even when I know that Robb and Mother died because my brother went back on his own promise.”

They both stayed silent for a while, and Gendry tried to distract himself, unwrapping the bundles on the table.

“It is the biggest regret of my life,” he said, quickly stuffing a piece of bread that he dipped in the small bowl of stew in his mouth.

“What is it, your biggest regret?”

Gendry didn’t answer right away, and instead took a sip of the ale she brought and wiped his mouth before responding, “Choosing to stay with the Brotherhood, not leaving with you when we had the chance. I may not have seen it then, but…”

“But?”

“But what came after. It wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

Gendry stayed silent, unsure how to bring up the topic of the Lady, and wondering if Arya knew about her.

“Lady Stoneheart.”

“You knew?”

“I learned about her when I returned.”

It had been so cruel to know her mother had been brought back, just as once she asked Beric thinking of her father. Though, she would never have wanted it if she had known what her mother was meant to turn into.

“I made sure she was able to rest.”

“You? Did you have to-”

Arya interrupted him before he could say it, “A gift of mercy.”

“I’m glad. I mean, I hate that it was you who had to do it. I couldn’t continue, that is why I stayed here, with the Heddles and the children.”

“I’m glad.”

“All this time, the only thing you wanted was to get back home to your family.”

“There’s no more family. Jon is in the North. Mayhaps Sansa, but I don’t know where she went.”

“You could get your home back,” Gendry ventured, coming to sit next to her, against the wall.

“And kill the Boltons,” Arya replied, her eyes suddenly alive with something glimmering in them. “Mayhaps rescue the poor girl who has been suffering in my name.”

Gendry nudged her on the shoulder with his, and spoke, “You could see your brother again. We could go to the Wall, you and me.”

Hope bloomed again in her chest, painfully.

“You didn’t answer my question, not truly.”

“What question?” he asked, turning to see her, her face closer than he expected.

“If you believe there is magic in the Red God, devout or not. Does that make you want to make his prophecy true?”

Her grey stare was suddenly too much to bear, and he had to look away, towards the flames that were still alight, but dwindling without the help of the bellows.

It took Gendry a long time to respond, and once he did, he felt his answer was stupid, “I don’t know.”

“I can’t take Winterfell back. Not without their help.”

“You wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Arya turned to find him looking down, and then she spoke, “Why would you want to fight for the North?”

Gendry turned at her words, his eyes were squinting a bit as if something ought to have been obvious.

“I don’t have a home, not like you did. But we were pack, you said so. And anyway, I have plenty to settle with the Boltons, enough from Harrenhal.”

“We could take their offer,” Arya added quietly.

The weight of what was at stake was palpable. 

“Let them use us so _my uncle_ can rule the Seven Kingdoms?”

Arya thought for a moment before replying, “But we could _use them_ just as much. Take their armies to rid the Riverlands and the North from the Freys and the Boltons. Make sure Jeyne, Willow, and the children have nothing else to fear. Cross names from the list. And maybe meet with my brother Jon at the Wall?”

“Would you be willing to pay the price? Marry me for your home?”

“I was always meant to marry for political reasons. In the end, I didn’t even need to be there for it to happen. If I have to marry for my home, I’m willing to do it. As long as it is my choice. And at least it would be to someone I know I can trust.”

She took a deep breath and then turned to him, and she asked, “Would you?”

Her grey eyes burned him, and he had to look away to reply.

“I failed before helping you get home. I won’t make that mistake again.”

They remained there for a while until Arya felt a pang of hunger.

“We should eat.”

They both stood up and walked to the table. They ate in silence until all the food and the ale was consumed. 

“We should think of terms before telling your uncle of our decision.”

“What are our terms?”

“First of all, Riverrun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya delivers their terms to Stannis, and the king reluctantly agrees. New allies join them, and together they plot a battle that must be won before Arya and Gendry can marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a huge thank you to Rebekah, (persuade_me/fandomjuxtaposition) for once more, helping me immensely beta-ing this chapter.
> 
> Second, I must make a disclaimer. I am extremely grateful to all the readers, and to your gracious comments, in particular those that pertain to the book canon, and the politics. But I need to say that this story is first and foremost a Gendrya story, and I know that despite my research and effort, it may not portray the best political strategy. 
> 
> Also, as you probably already figured out, there is no Edric Storm in it. 
> 
> Thank you once more, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

[ ](https://imgur.com/5iWop9i)

She hadn't experienced one of those dreams since the balmy nights of Braavos when she'd fall asleep with a yearning in her belly and a thirst in her mouth. She wasn't surprised though, when her eyes opened, glowing in a molten gold hue, and they saw despite the dark. The evening breeze brought her the scent of smoke, sweat, and man, and she let it lead her, retracing their steps out of the forest, towards the inn with the thatch roof and the bell tower. She advanced in the night until she was close enough to smell the moss covering the white stones of the low wall, and the ash of recent fires. 

She could keep going, push open the door she knew wouldn't be barred, and find her way to his cot. She didn't need to see him to know that his sleeping body would be bare and warm. She could pick up his scent from where she was standing, pine soap, ash, and musk. 

She could pounce on him, attack before he even had time to wake. 

She was used to the hunger that made her run free through the forest and gorge her mouth with warm blood, but this was a different pull.

Her keen ears could hear him turning and snoring softly.

He would be easy prey, on his back, belly exposed, ignorant of just how vulnerable he was. 

She snarled in the dark and readied herself.

She tilted her head in frustration and let out a howl, before running back into the woods.

Her night call prompted cold steel eyes to open. 

Her skin was still itching and yearning for something she did not understand.

But amidst her frustration, one thing was certain.

She was near.

* * *

The first time Arya realized she was meant to marry was when she had asked her father if she could be a king's councillor and build castles or become the High Septon. Instead, he told her that she'd marry a king and rule his castle, and her sons would grow up to be all the things that she desired for herself.

Then everything had broken down, and there was no time to think of betrothals while on the run, even if she never knew, until too late, that she had been promised to the twenty-second son of Walder Frey and the gods had found humor in having them meet at Harrenhal. 

All of those years that she was busy trying to be No One, someone else had been wearing her name, and at that precise moment, she was for sure getting a Bolton babe in her womb.

None of that mattered.

She was betrothed now, for political reasons, but her reasons nonetheless.

To Gendry.

What would her father have thought? She wondered.

She and Gendry had talked late into the night, deciding their demands for the king.

"It should be you who tells him our terms," Gendry had told her.

"Why not together?"

Gendry sighed, leaning back against the wall. 

"He may be offering to legitimize me and make me his heir, but he despises me. I'm just a stupid lowborn bastard."

"You are not that," Arya quickly replied, as her hand extended towards his, brushing his fingers. 

The contact ignited, as wild lightning sparked from their touch and spread through them both. Arya retracted her hand immediately, avoiding his gaze, and wondered, momentarily, if he had felt it as well. 

"It doesn't matter," Gendry said, staring at his fingers, flexing them and making a fist. "Better to keep him thinking little of me, sure that he can use me because I have no power, and no reason to deny him. But he knows he can't control you. We'll take advantage of that."

By the time she made her way to her own bed, it was already late, and later even when she was finally able to fall into a fitful sleep. A howl in the night roused her, and she gave up trying to chase slumber again. Instead, she thought of the early days of King's Landing, of chasing cats and standing on one leg, and of her father, gently explaining something that she could not understand at the time, until the sun was up and it was time to meet with the king.

She found him in the common room breaking his fast, with just the red woman sitting next to him, and his king's men standing all around.

"There are terms to discuss," she told the king, who seemed bothered to have been interrupted during his meal.

"You are in no condition to make demands, _girl_. Not to your king."

"I'm from the North, you're not my king. And you're the one who needs my help to claim your crown."

Stannis let his fist fall on the table, making his fork hit the plate with a loud clang. He then wiped his face with the napkin, clearly upset.

"Name your terms then."

"This inn, the Heddles, and the children. They must be protected and cared for."

"Fine," he replied, making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

"I'm not done."

The king looked up and pushed away his plate.

"Go on."

"As I mentioned before, I'm from the North. I do not believe in your god," she spoke, looking at the red priestess at the mention of the Lord of Light. "I will only be married at a godswood."

"Absolutely not!" the red woman was quick to reply, but the king held a hand in her direction.

"Even if I said yes, no one follows the old gods below the Neck."

"Then I will not marry at all," Arya threatened, with a proudly arched eyebrow.

The king shook his head.

"What do you propose then?"

"They may not treat godswoods as sacred anymore below the Neck, but there are some left still."

"What godswood do you suggest?" Stannis asked.

"Riverrun."

"Emmon Frey holds it."

"And you will take it back so we can marry."

Arya tried her best to wear No One's face, as the king and his priestess reacted to her high demands, but in the corner of her eye, she could see the knight they called Davos smile, and nod. 

"Do you have any idea of what you are asking for?" the king demanded, and by the way he looked at her, Arya could tell he finally recognized her place in the game. 

"When you take Riverrun back, the Riverlands will back you."

"I suppose you will tell me now that the North will declare for me when I take it back from the Boltons."

"When you help me defeat the Boltons, the North will support your claim, but the North will remain free."

Stannis shook his head in frustration. 

"I am meant to be the king of the Seven Kingdoms!"

"There are Seven Kingdoms now, but the North is not one of them. Not really. Even if the Boltons killed my brother. Northerners will never follow a southron king. Not ever again."

"Why should I fight to get back your kingdom then?"

"Because your god has told you that you need me. Because your witch has seen in the flames that the only way you will sit on the Iron Throne is to help me recover the North. Not to mention that if you support me and help me retake Riverrun, it won't just be the North who will back your claim, but the Riverlands and mayhaps even the Vale, since the heir is my cousin."

"Fine. Is that all?"

"You must send for my uncle Edmure and his family from the Twins."

"Should I also free him?"

"It won't take work, Walder Frey is dead, and his heirs have been killing each other. I suspect the only remaining ones are his daughters and too young sons that had nothing to do with his treason. We need my uncle to help us get Riverrun back," Arya explained, and then, after taking a breath, she added, "and to give me away."

"Has anyone told you that for a young girl, you are a tough negotiator?" the king asked her, in that tone, that Arya knew from experience some men liked to use to pretend they were complimenting a woman.

"I've never needed anyone to tell me what I am and am not, _your grace_."

* * *

Gendry had woken up earlier than his usual time, when a wolf’s howling had interrupted his slumber, and he had opted for getting the fires going. By the time the sun was out, he was already sweaty and feeling the burn in his arm muscles from making the steel sing. His exertion helped distract him from wondering how Arya was doing with their demands, as they had decided the night before to have her be on her own, and he had no reason to doubt her skill. And surely, at some point, she would come to him to inform him what was to happen. 

He was deep in his work when he finally heard soft steps on the stone floor of the smithy. The tension in his face softened, and his lips started curving into a smile, but instead of turning around, he faked annoyance.

"Don't you have anything better to do than coming here to watch me work?"

Instead of a sassy comeback, a gentler voice apologized, "I am truly sorry. It was not my intention to interrupt you. I just thought-"

Gendry turned around confused to find a girl, clearly younger than Arya, but about the same height. 

"I thought you were someone else," he explained, and then he noticed the long black hair, obscuring half of her face, and her fancy clothing. The young girl had to be the king's daughter. 

"Please forgive me, your grace," he offered, moved by something in the way the girl was walking away, with her head bowed. 

She stopped and turned around, and Gendry was able to see the deep blue of her uncovered eye, and a bit of the grey and scaly skin that she was trying to keep hidden.

"No need to apologize. I should have knocked. I wanted to properly introduce myself since I believe we're family."

_'Family.'_

The term was odd to him, but given the glimmer in that deep blue eye, he guessed that it was just as foreign to her as well. Gendry cleaned his hands on his apron and made the effort of an awkward smile.

"Your father told me I am the bastard of your late uncle. Not sure if that is enough to make us kin."

The girl smiled widely, much more than his words deserved, Gendry concluded.

"You are my cousin, then. My name is Shireen."

"I'm Gendry."

Her smile made some of the hair on her face slide back, revealing more of the grey marks on it.

"I never had any family before," it was all Gendry managed to say, scratching the back of his head. "To be honest. I don't think your father much wants me to be part of your family besides what he needs of me."

Shireen smiled softly and then said, "For whatever is worth, I would very much like to know you, and to call you cousin, if you do not mind."

"I'm not very friendly," Gendry apologized. "Arya can tell you that. And I'm bad at making small talk."

Shireen started nodding and moving back, and Gendry realized what she must have thought he meant.

"But I am willing to try to be your cousin, whatever that may be. You should talk to Arya, she is far better making friends than me. More interesting as well."

She seemed to like that, because she turned back and smiled again.

"I look forward to getting to know her, my father told us you two are meant to be married. Before I came here, I saw her in the common room, telling father you are to be married in Riverrun's godswood."

* * *

An envoy was dispatched to the Twins, with Ser Davos Seaworth as its leader. In the five days that he was away, preparations for the coming battle were coming along. Gendry turned out to be very busy in his smithy, working almost day and night, banging steel, and still reciting names, as Arya witnessed whenever she would bring him something from the kitchen. 

Those days Arya had more time to get to know Gendry's newly found family. She didn't like Selyse, Stannis' wife, but Shireen was a bright girl who was clever and curious. She seemed particularly interested in the cousin she had never known, and Arya was tickled to see Gendry's uneasiness at not knowing how to interact with her. 

Queen Selyse, on the other hand, was excited about the coming nuptials. 

"It is difficult, with the war, but my men have found a seamstress not far from here. We don't have much time, but I am certain we will be able to come up with a simple gown worthy of the two great houses. As soon as she is brought to me, we'll have her measure you," she explained as the Baratheons and Melisandre had supper with Arya and Gendry.

"If I should be measured for anything at this time, it would be for armor, your grace forgets that before a wedding can be held, we need to take a castle."

"The Lord of Light wills it, and so, the victory shall be ours. Isn't it so, Lady Melisandre?"

"It is not for us to understand his ways, but what R'hllor shows me in the flames will come to pass, and if we must get Riverrun back for a wedding, then he will deliver our king the victory."

"Have you been in Riverrun before, Arya?" Shireen asked, and for the way she had deviated the zealous talk, Arya was grateful. 

"I believe only once as a babe, but I do not remember it, though my mother talked at length about her home, and I feel like I've been there before. We shall see when we get it back."

"The only place I've really known is Dragonstone," she said with her head down, playing with her food. 

Arya noticed that everyone else on the table, besides Gendy, had lost interest in what Shireen had to say.

"I bet you know all the secret places in the castle," Arya commented.

Something in Shireen's eyes sparkled, and Arya thought that it eclipsed the greyscale marks on her face.

"Mayhaps a couple."

"Good, I look forward to having you show them to me at some point. We are to be family, after all."

* * *

"If armor is what you want, I could make it for you," Gendry said it out of the blue, as they sat outside in the night, in front of a makeshift fire.

Arya turned to face him, and she noticed his uneasiness. 

"What?"

"There, inside," he said, pointing with his head back towards the inn. "You told that woman… the queen, that you should be measured for armor, not a wedding gown."

Arya laughed at his discomfort.

"What I'm saying is, I can make armor. If it is armor you want, I can make it for you."

"I don't need armor," she replied with a shrug.

"But you said-"

Arya interrupted him with a groan and added, "I said that to stop that woman from continuing talking about gowns. I don't need armor."

The queen had been talking endlessly about their wedding, but not once she had spoken to him. Queen Selyse had complained that it should be performed in the faith of the Lord of Light, instead of the old gods. The knights that were always with her, known as the queen's men, clearly disapproved of the intention of the wedding being performed in a godswood, but the red woman convinced them that the Lord of Light had mysterious ways.

"Not even for the battle?"

"It will only weigh me down," she explained. "I'll take one of your daggers, though."

"Take your pick."

Arya grinned widely, and Gendry felt his chest puff up for some reason.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Your sudden good mood."

"I was just thinking that marrying a blacksmith will have its perks." 

* * *

Five days later Ser Davos returned with a gaunt-looking Edmure Tully riding alongside him, and a small wheelhouse that carried a wife he barely knew, and the small daughter who knew him even less. Arya watched from the door to the inn's kitchen, as he dismounted his horse. Once his wife was next to him, they both kneeled to the king who had summoned them. Arya had gone back to her chores, remaining busy in the kitchen, as they were ushered inside, and shown to their room. She had almost lost herself in the task of peeling parsnips when a voice that sounded slightly similar to her brother Robb's interrupted her thoughts.

"I believe it is you I have to thank."

Arya turned around to see an auburn-bearded man that was a stranger, but still close to her.

"I've only asked for you to give me away. Nothing else."

"That's not what I meant. I was in the dungeons, at the Twins. Five years since I surrendered my house. While I didn't see the light of day, I was fed, I stayed alive, and I was kept under the same roof as my wife and child, even if I didn't see them, but I was a prisoner, nonetheless. Walder Frey always threatened to send me as a prisoner to Casterly Rock, but he never did. Until one day, the wife I had not seen since our wedding night came to get me, told me her father had been killed during the night. Her brothers accused one another, but Roslin knew better. She and her sisters knew that a new young servant girl came one day and disappeared the day after. She was the one to bring my good father his last meal."

"What reason must this young girl have had to kill Walder Frey?" Arya asked, feigning naiveté.

"None. My good father asked to be left alone with her during the night, and the next day he was found purple and green, long claw marks on his neck and his flesh and blood under his nails."

"I can't say I feel for the loss of your lady wife."

"I do feel something," her uncle replied.

"What is that?"

"Gratefulness, to you, and hope that I get a chance to know my niece."

Arya simply nodded.

"So, I am to give you away, at the same godswood your parents were wed." he added.

"Once we take Riverrun back, and you sit as its lord again."

"I bent the knee to Stannis, but it is you I will follow. I will do whatever you tell me to do."

"Good. We will need your help, _uncle_. Tomorrow we shall start our strategy before anyone sends word to King's Landing of what we have been doing here."

* * *

It took only one day after Edmure Tully and his family had arrived for the dining hall of the Crossroads Inn to become their strategy room. The inn was not to take any new travelers. In return, the king stocked its storage of food and ale, and the children were to be well fed and clothed from then on.

Two days after that, Ser Andrew Estermont, one of the king's men, came in to announce a newcomer. 

"Who is it?" The king had asked, annoyed at the interruption, as he was poring over a region map alongside Arya and the rest of his king's men.

"It's the Blackfish, your grace."

"Are you certain it is him?"

"None of us has met him before."

"Bring him in."

Stannis turned to Arya then.

"Have you met your great uncle before?"

"If I did, I was a babe, but my uncle Edmure should be able to recognize him."

Edmure had gone to his room for a break to spend some time getting to know his small daughter. Stannis instructed another of his men, Ser Gerald Gower, to find him and bring him at once. 

"I met him once," Stannis explained then to Arya, as they waited for the man, "a long time ago, at the double wedding in Riverrun."

A man came in, looking old and emaciated, with simple peasant clothes.

"Ser Brynden."

"Stannis, your grace," he greeted him, kneeling.

"Is this Cat's girl?" He asked as he got up and walked towards Arya.

"Arya Stark."

"I see your father in you, girl. You're a wolf through and through, aren't you?"

"My siblings all got Tully eyes and hair. I was the only one that favored my father. Me, and Jon, my brother."

"Yes, but you took after your late aunt as well. You look a lot like her, I remember her from Cat's betrothal to your uncle Brandon. A wild wolf she was."

Her father had told her long before that she looked like her aunt Lyanna, and she couldn't understand how, since she was fabled to have been very beautiful. _'Her wolf wildness,'_ she thought. It must have been that, and nothing else at all. 

"I guess I took after her then in more than just her looks."

The old man chortled.

"I've heard some tales about you, but I reckon not all of them can be true."

Stannis could tell there was more being said in the eyes of uncle and niece, in the ways they both seemed to be measuring each other.

"If the tales you heard were about me marrying a Bolton, then no, not true at all."

"That's good to know."

"How did you find us?" the king asked, interrupting the conversation. "I must say that everyone thought you'd be dead by now."

"I've stayed hidden. I know these lands like no one else, Lannisters and Freys looked for me, but they never got close enough. I have my eyes and ears around, and one day I started hearing of that cunt's death, _'in his sleep,'_ they said," the Blackfish took a moment to shake his head and make a rude gesture with his hand. "Killed in his bed, pissing himself, most likely. And then about my nephew being brought back from the Twins, and something else about a lost she-wolf. I had to see for myself."

"Your nephew is here, one of my men is bringing him down."

Just then, Edmure came downstairs, taking two steps at the time. 

"Uncle?"

"Edmure?"

Both men embraced tightly, and once they parted, Edmure kept his face hanging low.

"You must hate how I helped our enemies take our home."

The Blackfish held on to his chin and forced it up.

"I know what _fucking_ Jaime Lannister threatened to do with your child. There is nothing for you to regret, son. You made sure I was able to escape."

Arya noticed Stannis felt uncomfortable, and then he spoke, "This has been a touching reunion, but you'll have plenty more time, once we are back in your castle, and planning your niece's wedding to my nephew."

* * *

Once the Blackfish was given better clothes and was fed, he was asked to participate in the strategy planning, along with Edmure and Ser Davos. The Lady Melisandre had gone outside with the queen, and her men, to build a massive fire and recite prayers in a tongue none of them understood. Meanwhile, Arya had brought Gendry to be present during their planning. 

"What will be our strategy?" The king asked, his patience running low.

"We clearly have the advantage in numbers, our army has fifteen hundred men," Ser Davos informed them all.

"What of the Lannister army?" Edmure asked.

"It was called back to King's Landing," Ser Andrew Estermont explained. "Our spies tell us something is going on with the High Septon and the army that is sworn to him. Cersei Lannister sent word to her brother that he had to come to King's Landing at once. Part of the army was also sent south, to fortify Casterly Rock."

"A small blessing for us all," Ser Davos continued. "We need to attack soon before news of our army being here reaches the capital."

"How many men make the garrison inside the castle?" The king asked, turning towards the Tully men.

"It holds two hundred soldiers. Our men were allowed to leave safely if they promised not to attack the Lannister army, and Emmon Frey brought his own men," Edmure replied.

The king smiled and then spoke, "Then it should be an easy task."

"Not really," The Blackfish corrected him. "Riverrun has the stores to hold food and water for two years. If they flood the moat, and they refuse to come out, we could be looking at a long siege."

"I do not have two years for this nonsense!" The king exclaimed, banging the table with the map. "How did the Lannisters take Riverrun in the first place?"

"They only accomplished it because they had me as a hostage, and Ser Jaime threatened to have my child catapulted as soon as she was born."

"We have no leverage against Emmon Frey," Ser Davos added. "None that he'd care about."

Arya had been looking at the map and listening carefully to what the men discussed.

"We won't get Riverrun back with a siege, we need something else," she finally added.

"And what do you suggest, _girl_?" the king inquired.

"Uncle Brynden, Uncle Edmure, what secret way is there to enter the castle?"

"There isn't one," Edmure was quick to reply.

Their uncle stared at the map for a second and then huffed. 

"There is," he replied. "The way I got out."

"The Water Gate?" Edmure asked, looking at his uncle. "Only because we lifted the portcullis enough for you to swim through it, just enough to give you space, but not enough to show from the outside. We are on the wrong side this time, we can't make them lift it."

"It wasn't enough when I escaped. It was close, but I needed more. The lower half of the iron grid is rusted. Arya, your mother mentioned it to me when she came. When I swam under it, I had to be careful with the lower spikes. I kicked them and was able to bend them."

"Even if it's possible, who could fit through that, if you bend one of two of the spikes? It will be too narrow," Edmure explained.

"I could," Arya intervened with confidence.

Gendry had remained quiet during all of it, but when Arya exposed her intentions, he no longer stayed silent.

"Arya, no!"

"I can make it inside," she explained, turning towards him.

"There will be guards," Edmure added.

"I can take care of them and lift the portcullis."

"If you can do that, I can bring in a group of men by boat without being seen. I've done it before," Ser Davos offered.

Arya nodded at the knight and added, "We need a plan. A map of inside the castle walls, and an idea of the number of guards that will be guarding the winch to lower the drawbridge," she then turned to Stannis. "Then, once the bridge is down, you can storm the castle."

"And take care of Emmon Frey," Brynden Tully said.

"I can take care of him," Arya added. "We must do it at night without him knowing we are coming."

"Are you sure about this?" The Blackfish asked her.

"It will work."

The king stared, and taking a breath, he said, "You better be sure, _girl_."

* * *

When she left the room and headed outside, Gendry stopped her, holding on to her arm.

"You can't go on your own."

"I can't?" she asked, arching her eyebrows, and burning him with her eyes. "Is this how it is going to be when we marry? My _lord husband_ will dictate what I can and cannot do?"

Gendry let go of her arm and raised his arms in surrender.

"It's not that, and you know it."

"Then what is it?" she asked, getting closer to him.

"I'll go with you."

"You don't think I can get inside the gate?" she asked, and Gendry knew by her tone of voice that his doubt hurt her.

He closed his eyes and let his head hang. He made the air in his lungs escape noisily, and let his hands rest on his hips. When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, still waiting for a response.

"What if you can't bend the spikes? What if you are pinned under the water, and you can't come up?"

"Can you even swim?"

He couldn't.

"I could get by."

"That's not enough, we can't risk being found out. You can be on the boat with Ser Davos."

"What if something happens to you?" he pleaded.

"I may be a Stark, but I am as Tully as the Blackfish. I will not fail," she said and then started to turn to keep walking, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Promise?"

Arya ought to have taken offense to Gendry's emphasis, but something was making the natural stillness of the blue of his eyes unsettled, like the sea during a storm. 

"I promise."

* * *

It took them less than a sennight to get ready for storming Riverrun. The queen and the princess had stayed behind, guarded by the queen's men and a small army. The remaining forces had divided in groups, led by knights sworn to the king, and the largest of them by Stannis himself, along with the Tully men and the red woman. 

The smallest group was commanded by Ser Davos, and they would be, mayhaps, taking on the most dangerous of tasks. They had approached the castle by boat, on the north side, on the Tumblestone river. When they were sufficiently close to the castle, but still at a safe distance, Arya had gotten up, and divested herself of her jerkin. She took the scabbard holding Needle off, and she handed it to Gendry, who made sure to brush the skin of her hand with his thumb for a moment, trying to convey what he meant to say. Arya smiled at the gesture, but there was no way for him to see it in the darkness. She took the dagger instead and stashed it in her boot, and in silence, she climbed on the side of the boat and lowered herself as gently as she could.

The water of the Tumblestone river was cold, but she was used to the cold.

Since she could remember, she knew that the best approach was to jump right in and start moving arms and legs to get the shock of the low temperature out as soon as possible. 

Not this time, she couldn't afford to make a big splash, and so, she let her body submerge in the dark liquid slowly, the cold slithering around her feet, and her legs, and then she felt it embrace her hips and her waist. She kept walking in the dark, letting the waters possess her, around her breasts, and her neck, until it soon was kissing her chin. 

The water was cold, but she had experienced worse before; she was a Northerner, after all. 

Her mother had taught her to swim when she was little, along with all of her siblings. They would swim in the pools of the godswood of Winterfell, that were fed by the same warm springs that flowed in the stone walls of her home. 

She took a deep breath and let her head submerge. She swam swiftly towards the Water Gate. She had been born a wolf, favoring her father's side, but deep down, there was still enough fish in her. She thought then that it was better than Gendry had not gone with her. He would have splashed about, and they would have been found immediately. Getting closer to the gate she let her face breach the surface to take another deep breath. This would be the last one before the attempted to cross the iron portcullis underwater, and she'd have to make sure that no one was looking from the other side. 

Taking a deep breath, Arya swam down, until she reached the iron gate, and she used it to move down until she found the sharp spikes. She held on to the grid, and brought her booted feet to them, and taking as much purchase as she could, she kicked a spike with all her might. She felt it give and bend, then she did the same with the one next to it, which broke cleanly off. Blindly, she used her hands to check the space created in the gate. It would be tight, but still enough for her hips to fit through it. The air in her lungs was running out, and she didn't have time to waste, so she moved through the hole and made her body cross to the other side. Her hips went through it, as she continued kicking her legs, but the bent spike caught on her shirt, ripping the fabric a bit, and grazing her skin, but soon she was on the other side. 

Once on the inside, she remained on the side of the lower bailey, waiting for the right moment to pull herself out. Hiding, she was able to see only one guard doing his rounds, and then leaning against the wall looking away from the place where she was. It would take only three steps to reach him, and one more breath to slit his throat. She hooked her hands on the ledge, and she pulled herself out. At the same moment, a faraway howl masked the sound of the water as she emerged. The guard looked away, surely worried about the beast growling near.

As Arya took her silent steps, Syrio's voice repeated in her head _'Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow.'_ The man didn't hear anything until the blade was already deeply embedded in his neck, and the heat of his blood spilled free onto his chest. Arya hugged him from behind, stopping him from making a sound as he collapsed. He was bigger than her, but she managed to pull him back. She couldn't throw him in the water without alerting others, so she simply pulled him towards the dark, and set him on the stone floor. She had considered taking his face, but the process took time she did not have. She walked towards the winch that controlled the portcullis, and she used all her strength to raise it, worried the creaking of the chains would alert any other guards. Once It was up, she pulled the small mirror she had stashed in the bindings on her chest and walking down the stairs, and on the bailey, closer to the Water Gate entrance, she moved the mirror, trying to catch the moonlight, hoping Gendry and Ser Davos would be able to see it. 

She kept her eyes peeled, looking towards the dark waters, and her ears trained to listen for the sound of oars carefully treading through the water. After a while, she was able to see the silhouette of the first boat, and her heart finally calmed when it made it inside, and the men started disembarking and walking up the water stairs. She was soon engulfed in strong arms, and her wet face was buried in Gendry's chest. 

"I was sure you had drowned."

Arya laughed quietly, "I should hit you for having such little faith in me."

"Never," he mumbled against her forehead.

"Leave that for your wedding. There is still much to do," Ser Davos instructed them. 

Gendry let go of Arya and handed Needle to her.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, checking her face, and her side, noticing the rip on her shirt, but she swatted his hand away.

All of them walked into the castle, and Davos and the men turned left, in the direction of the west entrance, the one that led to the flooded man-made ditch, to lower the drawbridge and allow Stannis and his troops to enter. Gendry saw Arya turn right instead.

"Where are you going?" He asked, stopping her by holding her hand.

"You can handle the drawbridge, I have business elsewhere?"

"Your business is my business."

"Is it now?"

He didn't have to be able to see her, to know her expressive eyebrows were knitted in frustration.

"You know it is."

"Fine, you can come with me to the main keep. I have a bone to pick with the lord of this holdfast."

As they walked in the shadows they saw the entrance to the godswood, Arya's uncles had drawn a map of Riverrun, and they knew they had to cross it on their way to the keep. There were two guards at the entrance to the spiral staircase that she knew led to the lord's solar. In the shadows, she held Gendry's hand, and once he was looking at her, she signaled towards the guards. Gendry nodded, and they waited until both men seemed distracted with their conversation to attack them. Arya jumped at the back of one, and Gendry was quick to punch the other one hard, knocking him unconscious. He then turned to see that Arya had the other guard's head in a chokehold, making him unable to raise the alarm, and the steady pressure soon made the man fall to his knees and pass out. They both quickly hogtied and gagged them. When they were incapacitated, they pulled them to the side, where they would be hidden in the shadows. They continued up the stairway until they reached the upper level, and they walked along a balcony, from where they were able to see that the drawbridge was being lowered. 

Only one guard was standing outside the lord's solar. This time, the man noticed them before they got to him, and he unsheathed his sword and charged towards them. The guard swung his weapon with all his might in Gendry's direction, considering him the most significant threat, but Gendry blocked the blow with his own sword, and pushed against him hard, forcing the guard's hand back. The man was distracted with it, and very soon felt the sharp tip of Needle on his neck. 

"Drop your sword," Arya ordered him. 

The guard realized his error at underestimating the smaller of his attackers, and very soon, Gendry had his other hand around his wrist, forcing him to release his weapon. He was quickly tied and gagged as the other guards had been earlier, and Arya and Gendry were able to enter the solar. Arya knew which door that led to the lord's chambers, and walked there in silence. Once inside, she could make a form under the covers on the lavish canopy bed. Arya was able to approach it without disturbing the sleeping man. When she was next to it, she took her dagger from her boot, and once ready, in one movement, she had the blade against the man's neck, and her knee on his chest.

The man awoke in distress, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. 

"How dare you?!" 

"Shush, you are in no position to demand anything," she warned him.

"I'm the Lord of Riverrun!"

"You are not. You are only the unfortunate second son of a traitor. The lord of Riverrun is my uncle Edmure."

At that precise moment, there was a commotion behind her and turning, she was able to see a heavyset blonde woman in her night shift, holding a dagger in her hand, squirming against Gendry. He had her in a chokehold from behind, and his hand wrapped tightly around the wrist holding the weapon.

"The Lady Frey, I presume."

"My name is Genna Lannister," she replied smugly, despite her difficulty.

"A Lannister and a Frey. An unfortunate combination."

"What's going on?" The woman asked as the sound of the fighting outside became louder.

"What is happening is Stannis Baratheon's army is taking back Riverrun from you, and it will be given back to the Tullys, their rightful lords."

"I was given this castle and the lands by royal decree!" The man under Arya said as he struggled.

"A royal decree signed by an illegitimate king has no bearing. Less even when you only got my family's house through the betrayal of your liege lord."

"My nephew Jaime Lannister will come and kill you," Genna Lannister spat out.

"Jaime Lannister has no idea who I am or what I can do. Mayhaps I should send you to King's Landing to deliver a message to him."

"Why would I do your bidding?"

"Because I will keep your husband as my hostage," Arya replied, digging her dagger more into her husband's neck, without taking her eyes from her.

The woman smiled, "Kill him now, I do not care."

Arya arched one eyebrow and laughed. 

"Tie her, we're taking them to the dungeons."

* * *

By the time Lord and Lady Frey had been secured in the castle dungeons, Stannis' army had overpowered the Frey garrison, and Edmure, Brynden, and some of their loyal men were in the process of taking down the Frey banners. 

Arya walked to the godswood, as dawn was breaking, until she found the heart tree. It was a weirwood one, just as the one in Winterfell, but still, it seemed wrong to her. She extended her hand and traced the face carving, imagining her father and mother, kneeling in front of that very tree, so many years before, making the promises they kept until their death. 

Arya thought how her own mother had found herself suddenly married to a man who had meant to be her good brother, and still a complete stranger. 

She suddenly felt tired, and she sat down, resting her back against the trunk of the tree. Closing her eyes, she thought that soon she'd be kneeling in front of that very tree, making promises of her own.

"Is this it?" Gendry's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"The heart tree," she replied without opening her eyes.

She felt him sitting next to her, and without dwelling on her actions, she let her head rest on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"Whatever for?" he asked, so close to her, that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead.

"You took care of that woman."

"I'm sure you could have taken care of both of them on your own."

"Mayhaps, but you still did it."

"It was the least I could do for _my future lady wife_."

Gendry felt her laugh against his shoulder.

"I'd hit you for that, but I'm too tired."

"Go to sleep, then, I'll stand guard."

For the second time that night, Arya felt herself sinking in water, but this time, it was warm, and she dreamed of the young girl with red hair that her mother once had been, dancing happily at her wedding feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter took a lot of work from me, I have to admit that I suffer when writing battles (I probably should have taken that into account when I decided to take on this story). 
> 
> That being said, it was also hard because I really want to finish next chapter, where we will have a wedding and bedding (and the rating of this fic will be upped to E). Because of that, I think I will probably be posting chapter four in less than a week, but then after that, I'll go back to posting every week. 
> 
> Thank you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya, Gendry and Ser Davos ride back to the Crossroads Inn to pick up the Baratheon and Tully women, and to take care of a few things before the wedding. Something Arya had lost long before is restored to her. The aspirations of the king, queen and the red priestess prompt Arya and Gendry to consider things they hadn't had time to do before. A wedding at Riverrun is announced, and all the banner houses in the Riverlands come to witness the marriage of a wolf and a stag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the wedding and bedding chapter became a monster and I had to split it in two, so here is part one, with the wedding. Part two, the bedding, will be posted this coming weekend.
> 
> I have to let you all know that I had written the wedding a while before and then I read ChristinS412's fic "Cloaked in steel" and there is no better wedding scene than that one. I changed the wedding ceremony to not use the same concept, since Christina's scene is THE scene. If you haven't read it yet, do so please.

[ ](https://imgur.com/mZNvjZA)

The trek back to the Crossroads Inn had been enjoyable, all of them still feeling the high of victory coursing through their veins. Also, it didn't hurt that the king and his red priestess had stayed behind along with Arya's uncles. 

Only Ser Davos and a few of the king's men rode along to collect the queen and princess, Edmure's family, and the men they had left posted behind. They were to finish some of the preparations for the wedding and then bring them all back to Riverrun, where the new war room was set to be headquartered. 

"You're from Flea Bottom," Ser Davos mentioned to Gendry as they rode alongside.

Gendry had been caught by surprise, and he turned to look at the knight with skepticism.

"Don't give me that look, son. I am a Flea Bottom bastard myself, I didn't mean it as a slight."

Gendry was taken aback by the news that Stannis' hand hailed from his old home.

"How is it possible that you are the hand of the king then?"

The man huffed, tickled by his reaction, and explained, "I was born and raised in Flea Bottom, and became a sailor. I got into smuggling and did very well for myself, even had my own ship. During Robert's Rebellion, I managed to smuggle onions and salted fish to Storm's End, as the siege had been going on for a year. I knew it would yield a lot of coin. Stannis knighted me in repayment for bringing them food that allowed them to survive until Ned Stark arrived to break the siege."

Davos turned to his side to notice that the young man seemed to be impressed with his account, and he smiled, knowing the second part.

"He then took my fingers in payment for my smuggling crimes," he said, pulling the leather glove off his left hand to show the stumps, missing the tip of each finger at the first knuckle.

Gendry's eyes showed his disbelief. He hadn't liked the man who called himself his uncle, and who had promised to raise his station only to use Gendry for his own ambition. He liked Davos, though, and he liked him even better when he heard that he came from the same lowly place he called home. What he couldn't fathom was the reverence he had for the king.

"How can you follow a man who repaid your help by maiming you?"

Ser Davos let out a long sigh.

"Because there was one thing Stannis proved to me with both rewards."

"What was that?"

"That, above all, he believes in fairness." 

Gendry had to agree, as he had chosen to stay with the Brotherhood for the very same reason.

"Not only that, but my fingers were also a price I was willing to pay to choose my own name that I could pass on to my sons and give them more than I ever had."

"How many sons do you have?"

"My Marya bore me seven sons." 

"Are they better? Your sons? Having more than Flea Bottom to look forward to?"

Ser Davos remained silent for a few moments as he looked ahead. 

"Not the older four. They died at the Battle of Blackwater. The gods decided to have me survive when I've lived a long life and take them when they had all their lives still ahead."

"I'm sorry," was all that Gendry found to say. 

Davos looked at him, and all he saw was a lonely boy, just as he had been so long before. Right at that moment, he yearned for each one of his seven sons. For the four that he would never get to see again, and for the three that he prayed that he would.

* * *

Shireen had been overjoyed when she saw the riders coming back. She hugged Ser Davos, Arya and Gendry effusively when they returned, to her mother's discomfort. Queen Selyse didn't wait to get the attention back to herself. She announced that the seamstress that was working on the wedding gown was there, and Arya had to try it on immediately.

Arya turned just enough to allow for Gendry to read all the dissatisfaction on her face, and then followed the queen towards her rooms.

"Gendry," Ser Davos then called to him.

"Yes?"

"King Stannis asked that I draft your legitimation papers and have you sign them. I assume you know how to read and write, son."

"Master Mott, back in the Street of Steel, taught me the basics, I know my sums, and my basic letters to take orders. Since then, I've haven't had much need to read and write, but I can get by."

"Good. You'll get plenty of practice from now on. I'll call for you when the papers are ready for you to sign."

"Thank you, Ser Davos."

The Onion Knight went inside to start working on the papers, and he left Gendry at the entrance, suddenly worried about many things.

"Ah, Shireen?" He called at his cousin, who seemed unsure of what to do with herself. "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

The face of the young princess lit up, once more endearing Gendry to her, and having something hollow ache inside at the same time.

"Of course! What can I do to help?"

"You see, I've never been to a wedding. Not a real one. I was wondering if you could tell me about them, and know what I'm supposed to do."

"I've never been to a wedding at a godswood, only to ones at a sept, but I've read about them. I'm happy to share with you what I know."

"Great. Mayhaps you can tell me all about it in the smithy? There is something that I need to finish before we can leave."

"I'm happy to help. I seldom have enough to do as we move along Father's campaign."

"Well," Gendry said, scratching the back of his head. "I was just told by Ser Davos that I need to get better at my letters, mayhaps you could help me with that as well."

"It will be my pleasure, cousin."

* * *

Arya hadn't really given any thought to the wedding ceremony beyond the promises she was to make by the heart tree at Riverrun. Her mind had been busy with the battle to get her mother's home back. But the moment she was inside the best of the inn's rooms, the one occupied by Queen Selyse, the reality of her wedding hit her with full force. A middle-aged woman was there, bent over, earnestly stitching her wedding gown. Arya felt dread all of a sudden. Of the mummers' farce, she'd be forced to play.

Selyse promptly asked Arya to disrobe and try the gown the woman, Elspeth, had been stitching while they've been busy taking back her mother's home from Emmon Frey. 

The dread she felt decreased when the sweet seamstress handed her a gown made of soft grey wool. She hadn't expected that as she was sure she'd be forced into a lavish over-the-top black and yellow dress, and instead, it was a plain grey one, with soft light blue silk as lining, and peeking out of the wide round collar. The dress had laces on the back, to cinch it tight, and show her form, and the sleeves had dozens of ties to join the fabric, ending at her knuckles. 

"Pity, we don't have more time," the queen lamented, looking her way, "for embroidering houses sigils."

"No, this is perfect," Arya said, as Elspeth tightened the laces at the back, tailoring the gown to her figure. The dress showed her curves, subtle but present. Arya's body was lithe, and the gown showed it, but it also made evident that she had a perk bosom and inviting hips. The fabric had a perfect weight, and after sliding off her hips, it billowed into full skirts.

"With your lady mother gone, I thought you probably have many questions and fears about your coming wedding," the queen spoke, getting her attention. "I thought I could help answer any question you may have."

Arya knew what Selyse was doing, but she felt no interest in playing along.

"What sort of questions?"

"How much did your lady mother, or your septa explain to you, about... The bedding?"

"You mean when both your families and esteemed guests forcibly strip and molest you at your own wedding?" Arya asked, being obtuse on purpose.

"No!" the queen exclaimed. "That tradition is a bit barbaric, yes, but it's all in jest. No, I mean, what your husband will be expecting of you."

"You mean _fucking_?"

"Dear R'hllor! Must you be so crass, child?" 

The queen stood up from her seat and paced around the room.

"I mean when your marriage is consummated. I'm sure you must be fearful, not knowing what is to happen."

"Oh, I know what happens. I lived in a pillow house in Braavos, and the courtesan I served told me all about it."

"Very well, then. I was just trying to help you, but I guess you'll be perfect for each other. With Gendry being a baseborn bastard and the lecherous man who sired him, you can expect him to take you violently. I'm sure he'll share his father's appetites. Just close your eyes and do your duty," Selyse said and left the room in a huff.

* * *

At sunset, something called Arya to walk towards the woods, and she attributed it to the need to process what was to come. She had provoked the queen, but she did not regret speaking the way she had. Queen Selyse's words had been full of disdain directed at her for her insolence, but her words held plenty of contempt for Gendry, who she hated just for being a bastard and the son of the late good brother she had always hated. 

Arya had heard of Selyse's trouble bearing an heir for Stannis. After many lost pregnancies, she had only been able to carry one babe to term. It was no secret either that Selyse had little love for Shireen, for being a girl and having been marked by greyscale. Ser Davos had told both Arya and Gendry how Robert Baratheon had bedded a cousin of Selyse on her and Stannis' own marital bed on their wedding night. Since then, Selyse had hated Robert and blamed him for the curse on her womb. Davos had added that it had been a small blessing that the son Selyse's cousin had born was stillborn. 

Gendry had never met his father, but from all that Arya remembered of the late king, she was sure he could never be like him. She also found ridiculous the idea that there could be something within bastard blood that determined that those that had it running through their veins were meant to be lewd by nature. Arya could not reconcile that notion with her brother Jon nor with Gendry, the two bastard boys in her life, and who were mayhaps two of the best men she had ever known. Contrarily, she knew plenty of nobles with uncontrollable appetites. 

The one thing Selyse did accomplish was to remind Arya that she and Gendry would soon be sharing a bed, but very differently from how they had back on the king's road.

She knew what was expected to happen on her wedding night, and for a moment, after Selyse's implication, she tried to imagine what it would be like. She attempted to picture Gendry as the men that sought out the courtesans in the pillow houses of Braavos, grunting atop of her, seeking his selfish pleasure in her flesh. 

Arya shook her head, trying to dispel the image. 

Gendry was different.

She felt something tighten in her stomach in a way that it was hard to understand, equal parts fear and longing.

The feeling was interrupted by movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning towards it, she was able to see a shadow, moving in the bushes. Arya felt rooted to the place where she stood, and while she had a conscious thought of going back to the inn, there was something visceral telling her to stay.

Arya remained looking towards the dense foliage where the shadow moved, advancing towards her. The beast soon emerged, stealing Arya's breath away. It had grown far larger than that day when she had thrown rocks at it. Once Arya was close enough, she extended her hand and touched the fur on her neck. 

The direwolf lowered her head and nuzzled Arya's side.

"I missed you too, Nymeria."

* * *

It was late by the time Arya made it back to the inn. As she got close enough, she could make out Gendry's form in the dark, sitting on the steps of his forge. He must have seen her, too, because he quickly stood up and walked up to meet her. Arya could tell when Gendry first noticed Nymeria behind her, for how he halted his step.

"This is Nymerya. She is my direwolf," Arya said, coming to stand next to Gendry. 

He seemed frozen in place, looking at the direwolf with wide eyes, darting left to right.

"She won't eat you."

"Does she know that?" he asked in reply, without taking his eyes from Nymeria.

"You better get acquainted with her, since she'll be sleeping in our chambers."

Arya's comment caught him off guard. It was stupid, really. He knew they'd be getting married, but Gendry hadn't given too much thought to the fact that they would be expected to sleep in the same chambers. He self-chastised for that. They had shared a bed many times in the past, though a voice in his head reminded him it was far different now that they were a man and a woman grown. 

"Great," he replied, hoping Arya hadn't noticed his pause. "I should be sleeping with one eye open."

"Let her smell you; less likely she'll take you for a foe if she knows your scent."

He did as he was told as the great beast got closer, extending his hand and letting the direwolf smell him. Nymeria took her time, and when she seemed to accept him, she started licking his hand. Gendry felt a wide grin spread on his face, and he ventured his other hand to pet the direwolf behind the ears.

"There, now she knows you're pack and not a meal."

Gendry just laughed and nodded.

* * *

Everyone else had gone to sleep when Arya went inside towards her room, and no one had seen Nymeria walk behind her. The next morning, when she came downstairs, with her direwolf following her, a shrill scream came out of Queen Selyse, who had been breaking her fast.

"What in the name of R'hllor is that?!"

"This is Nymeria, she is my direwolf."

"What is she doing inside?"

"She goes where I go," Arya informed her. "Do not worry, your grace. She will not attack anyone that wishes me no harm."

* * *

A couple of days later, when they were ready to start their way back to Riverrun, Arya and Gendry bid their goodbyes to the Heddles and the children. The Heddles had been adamant in declining the invitation to their wedding at Riverrun, arguing that it was meant for the highborn. It saddened them, but they understood their discomfort, after all the time they had spent time with the king and queen. 

After making promises to see them again, Gendry asked Arya to follow him to the smithy before joining the rest of the party.

"Do you need to bid farewell to your forge as well? Is the anvil going to miss you?" She mocked.

"Funny. Mayhaps I shouldn't give you what I had for you."

"What is that?"

"Now you are interested, aren't you?" He asked, winking as he moved a piece of cloth off the project on his workbench.

Arya's eyes open wide at the sight of a brand new sword, somewhat similar to her Needle but of larger dimensions.

"It's beautiful," Arya exclaimed, her eyes dancing over the shiny steel.

"It's an estoc. Go on, pick it up."

Arya did not have to be asked twice, and she lifted the long narrow blade.

"It's skinny, like your Needle, but longer and with a bit more weight. You should be able to reach your opponent better. It's not designed to hold a sharp edge, so it is not meant to cut, but pierce, instead. I thought it should favor the water dance. By not making it sharp, I was able to make it sturdier than a rapier, it means that it should not bend or break when blocking a blow from a broad or longsword."

Arya took the time to feel the weight of the sword in her hand, it was definitely heavier than Needle, but the weight felt right to her. The blade cross-section was diamond-shaped, and it had a long black leather grip that ended in a bulb pommel, with a simple wolf head carved at the end. The crossguard was straight, and it was far broader than Needle's. It also had a ring on each side, over the crossguard, which joined through another ring around the blade. It also had a guard on one of the sides over the grip.

Gendry noticed that she was looking at the guard, and he explained, "those are finger rings and a knuckle bow. I thought it would make for a nice addition. It should help protect your hand and do more damage to someone's face if you decide to punch them with it."

"I like it," Arya added, as she performed a forward attack.

"The tip is quite sharp. It should pierce chainmail without trouble."

"You've outdone yourself," she said, looking at Gendry with a radiant smile.

The way she looked at him disarmed him, and made him suddenly bashful, prompting him to scratch the back of his head.

"It's no Valyrian steel, but the best I've made."

Arya lowered the blade, and embraced him with her right hand, burying her face on his chest. Gendry had not expected the gesture, but once he got over his surprise, he wrapped his arms around her, and he let his chin rest on top of her head.

They parted, and avoided each other's eyes until Arya spoke, "A fine sword like this one needs a name."

"What will you name it?"

Arya thought for a while, and then she spoke, "When I was a lord's daughter, I was given a needle. I must be a wolf now, and wolves have sharp fangs."

"Fang, I like it."

They stayed silent, staring into each other's eyes until Shireen came to find them and tell them they were ready to go.

* * *

It took them a bit longer to return to Riverrun than their previous journey since this time they had to keep pace with the wheelhouse transporting the Baratheon and Tully women. 

After they crossed the drawbridge, they were greeted in the courtyard by the lords of Riverrun, standing next to the king and his red priestess. It was quite a contrast how Roslin and her daughter ran to hug Edmure, while Selyse and Shireen walked to the king, sharing only a nod and a curtsy.

Screaming interrupted the greetings, as Nymeria walked into the castle slowly, and all the people around promptly dropped whatever they had on their hands, and ran away in fear.

Arya's uncles and the king stood there, observing the direwolf with open mouths, and only Melisandre took a step forward.

"A magnificent beast," she exclaimed.

Nymeria growled at the priestess but stopped once Arya set her hand on her.

"This is Nymeria."

"The Lord of Light sends us another sign of his blessing and the path to victory," Melisandre was only too happy to announce.

"A Stark with a direwolf, the North will soon rally behind me," the king added. "There will be no question of the Boltons' deceit when the real Arya Stark appears with a direwolf at her side."

"Soon, the stag and the wolf shall be joined, and R'hllor will rejoice when the maiden blood and the seed on the nuptial sheet burn in the flames for his glory."

Gendry felt the red witch's words like a hard punch to the gut.

* * *

Their wedding ceremony was planned to take place in a sennight, to give ample time for the remaining preparations and to give the Tullys bannermen time to arrive. In the meantime, Arya got acquainted with her mother's home, and Gendry wasted no time finding the forge at Riverrun. Arya teased him about choosing to shut himself in the smithy to avoid having to interact with all the people in the castle, which included their old friend Tom Sevenstrings, who had been at Riverrun, employed by Emmon Frey to entertain his wife with his songs. Gendry just grunted and said he still had work to do.

"They may give me a name and a title, and dress me in fine leathers, but the man you're marrying is still a bastard blacksmith under it all," he warned her, but it only made Arya laugh.

"If it means a steady source of weapons as good as this one," she replied, placing her hand on Fang, "then it's a sweet deal for me."

Although she did not comment on it, Arya was pleased that Shireen would join Gendry in the smithy. She knew she had been helping him with his letters, and sharing stories about House Baratheon, to help him prepare for his role as Stannis' heir. She liked Shireen, and she was elated that at least one of the Baratheons seemed genuinely happy to welcome Gendry into their family. 

* * *

Ravens had been sent to all the Riverlands banner houses, which remained loyal to House Tully to announce the wedding and invite them to attend. Among the guests, Arya had been pleasantly surprised to find Lady Ravella Smallwood, and she greeted her with an enthusiastic hug.

"I did not expect to see you again, Lady Smallwood."

"Call me Ravella, please. I always hoped I would find you again. I'm pleased to see you all grown up, and marrying a prince no less."

"Have you met him?" Arya asked, curious to know if the lady of Acorn Hall knew she had met her intended already.

"Not recently," she replied with a glint in her eye, "but I ran into Tom earlier. Imagine my surprise when he informed me that the prince you are to marry is a certain sullen boy who came to my home with the Brotherhood all those years ago and helped you tore that acorn dress in my smithy."

"No one would have imagined he was the bastard of Robert Baratheon," Arya explained.

"And to think my biggest worry back then was that he'd end up taking your maidenhead."

Arya was not one to blush easily, but the words of Lady Smallwood caused a sudden heat to spread over her cheeks.

* * *

On the day of the wedding, Queen Selyse had instructed some servant girls to help get Arya ready. She had been bathed and groomed, and her body was lathered in scented lotions. Arya had flat out refused Selyse's order to have all the hair between her legs shaved, arguing that it was unsightly. Arya was quick to reply that if her future husband expected her to be smooth as a babe there, then he was not looking forward to a grown woman but a child, and she would not be marrying such a man. The queen begrudgingly agreed, and compromised, by asking her to at least accept to have it trimmed and coated with scented oils.

After all the grooming, Elspeth, who had been brought with them, dressed Arya in her wedding dress. Selyse's handmaidens brushed and styled her hair, into a half do, with two Northern braids on each side, joining in the back, and the rest of her brown hair left to fall free in waves over her back. Arya had let her hair grow in Braavos, once Mercy's face had been shed. It had taken long, but now, her hair reached below her shoulder blades. 

Once she was dressed and her hair was done, she ushered the women out of her chamber. She had been assigned the rooms that once had belonged to her mother before she married. Her uncle Brynden told her that when Cat had come back, during Robb's campaign, to take care of her ailing father, she had once more slept in that same chamber. Very little remained of her mother's effects after all the years the Freys took control of Riverrun, but just knowing that the room had been hers was enough. As she sat in front of the same mirror her mother had used to get ready when she was a girl, she silently prayed to the seven and the old gods to let her feel her parents' spirits during her wedding.

Brushing away a tear, she stood up, and donned her high boots and hid two daggers under her skirts. She then tied a black leather belt around her hips and hooked her new sword to it. 

"Nymeria, to me," she called her direwolf, and together they left the room in search of her uncles. 

She found them outside of the Main Keep, waiting for her. They told her that she looked beautiful, and they proceeded to walk with her towards the godswood. 

It was already dark, and lanterns had been hanged from the trees, and placed on the ground, lining the path towards the heart tree. All the guests noticed her arrival and turned to look at her, faint whispers and gasps, making her feel uneasy. As they walked down the path, she was able to see a solemn-looking Stannis standing at the back by the heart tree. A couple of steps after, she could see Gendry standing by his uncle, and as if he was able to feel her eyes on him, he turned around, giving her a small smile of reassurance. He was wearing fine black leathers, and just like Arya, a long simple cloak. There had not been enough time to have cloaks adorned with their houses' sigils, but they had been able to procure one in grey and one in black, made of soft pelts.

The flutter in Arya's belly calmed a bit with the serene blue of Gendry's eyes. Seeing him exhale a breath that he had been surely holding prompted another wave of relief.

"Who comes?" Stannis yelled, interrupting Arya's thoughts.

"Arya of House Stark and House Tully comes here to be wed, a woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?" her uncle Edmure then asked.

"I, Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, of House Baratheon. Who gives her?"

"Her uncle, Edmure of House Tully, Lord of Riverrun."

"And she gives herself," Arya interrupted her uncle, "freely."

"Arya, dear niece. Do you take this man?"

Arya turned to lock eyes with Gendry and replied, "I take this man."

Gendry was then instructed to extend his hand to Arya, who took it, and they both knelt in front of the heart tree, heads bowed, seeking the blessing of the old gods. Gendry had not witnessed the power of the gods of the North yet, but kneeling there, with their hands joint, he didn't have to open his eyes to believe Arya's gods were looking down on them. And so, in his heart, Gendry vowed his loyalty to Arya, to take her cause and make her home his. He could not know what was going through Arya's mind at the moment, but he wished that through their bond she'd sense the sincerity of his pledge.

"Raise now, nephew," Stannis spoke then, "and bring your bride into your protection."

Shireen had explained to Gendry about the cloaking ceremony, and he knew that he was meant to take Arya's cloak symbolizing how she was to leave her house to join his own. It had not sat right with him, in particular, the implication of Arya being helpless without his protection.

"I will not take my wife's cloak from her," Gendry spoke, and everyone around them gasped.

"You must cloak your bride, son," Stannis intervened, clearly displeased. "Our ancestor, Orys Baratheon, wrapped his cloak around Argella Durrandon, as a symbol of his protection."

"I have wed a Stark wolf, and she shall always be one. I will not strip Arya of who she is. As for protection, my wife is far more skilled than me with a sword, and so, this is the way I shall guard her," Gendry turned to look around for his cousin, and Shireen was quick to join him with two servants carrying a wooden trunk behind her.

Once it was set before him, Gendry opened the trunk and pulled out a polished piece of steel.

"This is just a breastplate, but it's the first piece of an armor of steel, leather, and mail that I will make for you."

Arya ran her fingers over the shiny steel, and her fingertips followed the grooves of the sigils carved in the middle of the chest piece, a stag, and a wolf, guarding each other's backs. Her eyes looked up to Gendry's, and he felt out of breath by the intensity of her gaze. Arya then lowered her cloak off her shoulders.

"Fasten it on me," she said, and then made sure to burn Gendry with her eyes as she added, " _husband_."

Gendry smiled and brought the piece to her, placing it over her head and around her torso. Arya gathered her hair to the side, allowing him to fasten the leather straps. When he was finished, Arya once more placed her cloak over her shoulders.

Melisandre then walked to the front and exclaimed, "tonight, stag and wolf shall burn together and share their fire, for the night is dark and full of terrors."

"That's nice and all," the Blackfish intervened, "but her mother was of the Faith of the Seven, as we are too, can we have a kiss to seal the union?"

Gendry looked at Arya and felt unsure of what to do, but she moved closer to him, and confidently lifted herself on her tiptoes to join their lips, placing one hand on his jaw. Gendry remained stunned for a moment, but soon he put his arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and off the ground to bring her to his height. The sudden applause and reactions from their guests made them part and avoid each other's eyes.

"That's certainly an unusual cloaking, but fitting for our times. What do you say? Shall we go to the wedding feast? There is much to celebrate," the Blackfish yelled to the guests.

"I believe Northern tradition calls for the groom to carry his bride to the feast," Edmure mentioned, with his arm around his wife.

"Why? My wife can walk," Gendry replied to Arya's amusement, and holding hands, they walked to their wedding feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout to darksnider05 for suggesting the estoc. I hope you liked it and its name. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a feast with toasts and a dance to a song Arya and Gendry hadn't listened to in years. A marriage alliance is consummated, and an offering to the Lord of Light is made.
> 
> *Rating raised to E with this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? This came faster because I had great incentive.
> 
> If you are not into reading smut, just skip once you get to the point when they reach their chambers. You can read again when you read the bit that starts "Arya felt warm and safe."

[ ](https://imgur.com/tOaLI2E)

Nymeria followed them as they made their way towards the Great Hall, and once they reached the entrance, Arya instructed her to stay outside, guarding it. After collecting their swords, the bride and groom were shown to their seats at the main table on the dais, where King Stannis and Queen Selyse sat at the center. To King Stannis' right sat the Lady Melisandre, followed by Ser Davos and then the Blackfish. On the other side of Queen Selyse, her daughter Shireen was seated. Gendry was to sit next to his cousin, with Arya to his right, followed by Edmure and Roslin.

Arya noticed that the table closest to the dais had all the queen's men. She didn't know them all by name, but she was able to recognize them during the wedding ceremony, just by the hostility in their eyes. The two Arya knew well enough where Selyse's uncles, Alester and Axell Florent, the latter kept his cold eyes trained on her.

The grave voice of Utherydes Wayn recently restored steward of Riverrun, called for attention.

"We would like to call Lord Gendry Baratheon as his new bride, Lady Arya Stark Baratheon, to lead the dance."

Gendry turned to look at Arya, eyes widened and mouth agape. She wasn't any more thrilled than he was about the request, but not seeing any way out, she stood up, prompting Gendry to do so as well. 

"This is going to be bad," he whispered next to her ear as a warning.

"I'm not better. Just put your hand on my lower back and sway a bit," Arya instructed him, taking his hand as they descended from the dais towards the small dance floor.

"Excuse me," a voice called from one the lower tables, "I believe I know a song that will bring the bride and groom fond memories."

Both Arya and Gendry glanced at Tom Sevenstrings, who had a devilish glint in his eye and his woodharp in his hands.

"The lovely Lady Smallwood requested it personally, as it is a song I sang at her home when both the bride and groom visited long ago."

"Sing it!" the crowd cheered.

Tom's fingers started plucking a melody that pulled memory strings for both Gendry and Arya before he started singing.

_'My featherbed is deep and soft,_

_And there I'll lay you down,_

_I'll dress you all in yellow silk,_

_and on your head a crown.'_

Arya and Gendry stared at each other for a moment, but as the words alluded to what they were not ready to acknowledge yet, they looked away, trying to focus on something else. 

"You seem nervous," Arya spoke, without looking directly at him.

"I'm not used to having everyone stare at me."

_'For you shall be my lady love,_

_and I shall be your lord._

_I'll always keep you warm and safe,_

_and guard you with my sword.'_

Arya smiled as the words reminded her of something she had forgotten.

"I guess I should be pleased that at least this dress is not covered in acorns."

She was able to feel Gendry smiling, even if she couldn't see it, just by the way his body seemed to soften.

"Let's hope that this one will not end up soiled and torn like that one." 

His words made her stop her swaying, and look at him in the eye with one eyebrow raised. She was able to see how his face turned to panic at the unintended meaning of his comment.

"Shit! No, I didn't mean that… I meant-"

Arya's belly laugh interrupted his explanation.

_'And how she smiled and how she laughed,_

_the maiden of the tree._

_She spun away and said to him,_

_no featherbed for me.'_

Arya took pity on him and said, "does my lord husband wish to show me the Riverrun smithy tonight?"

Gendry took a deep breath and scrunched his eyes.

"No, I do not. You're already wearing what I've been working on," he explained, his face showing his relief.

"Did you make armor only for me? I would expect you'll need it just as well."

"I did make a breastplate for me that matches yours."

"Good," she responded with a smile, as Tom sang the last verses of the song.

_'I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

_and bind my hair with grass,_

_But you can be my forest love,_

_and me your forest lass.'_

After the song ended, Gendry escorted Arya back to their seats, amid thunderous applause. There were a few rounds of toasts and speeches, some pleasant and to the point, and some long-winded and dull. And there was even one, half speech, half song from their friend Tom, cleverly rhyming words like wild wolf and bucking stag, with a few verses about wrestling on the ground. When his intervention was finally over, to the bride and groom's great relief, the food was served, giving the new couple finally a respite from having all eyes on them. Still, Gendry remained looking uncomfortable, while he cut his food and took a bite.

"What is it?" Arya asked.

"What is what?"

"That scowl on your face. Something's bothering you. More than usual, I mean."

"It feels like everyone is looking my way, just waiting for me to fuck it all up. Like they expect I won't know how to use a fork or something. I'm sure it will make them happy to find a reason to send me packing back to Flea Bottom, while they mock me for pretending to be a lord."

"They're looking at you because you were named heir of a king. You have as much right as anyone else to be here, legitimation or not."

"That may be, but I feel like a stand out like a sore thumb."

Gendry noticed then that Arya swept him up and down, making him uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

"Well, I can tell you that all made up like this, you definitely look the part," she declared with a smirk.

"Well, I don't like it."

"You should get used to it, since your uncle, nay, your _adoptive father_ is to be the king of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Will we actually need to do all that?" he asked, scrunching his face. "I mean, once we're out of this agreement with him, and he's far away on his beloved throne. We won't have too much of this up in the North, will we?"

Arya arched an eyebrow at his words.

"I don't know. How do you imagine _our life_ up in the North will be like?"

Gendry found himself unable to hide a blush.

"It's not like I dream of it," he said, looking away from her.

"No, but surely you've given it a thought."

Gendry rubbed his recently shaved jaw before replying, "You must have a smithy in that castle of yours. And I thought you may need a smith. I thought mayhaps you'd let me stay in Winterfell and smith for you."

Arya tilted her face as if she was considering his request.

"I will have to consult with my brother Jon, and with my sister if we ever find Sansa."

Gendry looked down then, "I understand."

"Are you really going to be this stupid?" Arya questioned him, pulling at his shoulder to make him turn to face her.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't need to consult anyone, and you don't need to convince me to let you stay in Winterfell when you are my friend. And do I have to remind you that you are also my husband?"

Gendry shrugged as he replied, "I thought we were only doing this to win your home back. I did not expect you'd want to remain married to me."

For some reason, his words felt like a blow to the gut.

"Are we to part ways once the North is won, then?" She asked hesitantly, with a sudden interest in her goblet of Dornish red.

"No… Yes… I mean, whatever it is that you want."

Something emboldened her to twist her body to face him.

"And what if I don't want to annul this marriage?"

"You don't?"

It was Arya's turn to shrug.

"What for? To be married to some idiot lord I do not like?"

"You rather stay married to an idiot _you do like_?"

"You're my friend," she confided in him. "I think that should make for a better marriage than most. How about you?"

"How about me?"

"Would you like to stay married to me? Instead of going somewhere to be a lord, or who knows, even an heir to the Iron Throne?"

"You know I can seldom stand people, _you_ being one of the very few. And for the Iron Throne, I couldn't care less."

"You wouldn't want a wife? Children mayhaps?"

Gendry just pursed his lips, "I think being married to your best friend is a better fate than most. I could work in your smithy, and I don't know, we could take in orphans from the wars."

Gendry felt a warmth spread in his chest, looking at Arya's widening smile.

"That sounds like a good plan."

* * *

Stannis could see the bride and groom talking animatedly as all the guests ate and drank, and he turned to face his adviser. 

"They are wed now, has he shown you anything new in the flames? A confirmation that his will was done, and he still favors our cause?"

"You must be patient, my king," Melisandre replied. "Their union must be consummated still, and the proof burnt to his glory."

"If that boy took after my _dear_ brother in any way, that should not be a problem, unless he took after his lowborn mother instead."

"Patience. Tomorrow I will collect the proof and make an offering to R'hllor."

"Pray for it, Melisandre. For the good of you and all of us here."

* * *

As the night went on, the chatter from all present got louder. Guests had become rowdier with all the Dornish red and ale that had been served. It was something to thank Emmon Frey for, but most of all, his Lannister wife, whose taste for it and her family connections had the stores of Riverrun well stocked.

After the last course was served, Gendry noticed that the guests continued enjoying themselves, but once more, they had their eyes set on Arya and him.

"Why is everyone suddenly looking at us?"

Arya lifted her head, and she looked around the room, noticing that the guests were leering their way.

"It's time for the bedding," Arya explained, quickly plotting their escape.

"Your people really do that? Rip your clothes and take you nude to your chamber?"

"Yes, and they mean to do the same to you."

"And you're happy about that?" Gendry asked, whispering close to her ear.

"Fuck, no."

At the resolution in her words, Gendry grasped his knife from the table.

"That's incredibly dull," Arya cautioned him, seeing his fingers clutching the cutlery.

"They took my sword coming in, as they did yours. Beggars can't be choosers."

"Good thing that I came prepared then," and as she spoke, she lifted her skirts, revealing two daggers, strapped to her right thigh. Gendry recognized them, twin blades she had evidently stolen from his smithy at the inn. One of them tucked on the outside of her leg, while the other one was on the inside.

Gendry looked down, and then up to her, raising an eyebrow and letting a cocky smile grow on his face. Without saying a word, he reached for the one on the inside of her thigh, his rough fingers brushing the soft skin above the leather strap as he pulled the dagger out.

The cheers and catcalls announced that many eyes had noticed Gendry's movements, and Arya could easily imagine what they were thinking since the table at the dais was blocking them from seeing his real objective.

The crowd was emboldened by what they interpreted as the groom's forwardness and impatience at claiming his prize. Soon, the sound of many wooden chairs being pushed back at once added to the cacophony of yelling and whistling. 

Arya felt the adrenaline from the sense of danger, but also from the ghost feeling of Gendry's fingers on her thigh. She only had to look his way to know, as they both stood up, that he was experiencing the same heightened awareness. They turned towards the door that led to the courtyard, and they bolted towards it, but once they were off the dais, they found themselves surrounded. Arya and Gendry gave each other a reassuring smile and turned to stand, back to back, a dagger held confidently on their dominant hands. 

Male guests were taunting Arya, but Gendry was most surprised by the number of women that were trying to grab at his clothes, and who were yelling crude things at him. 

"Come on, girl, be a dear let us take you to bed, you know that you want it."

"Well, just try to grab me, and let's see if you still have a hand afterward."

After a few minutes, Arya brought her right hand to her lips, and putting two fingers into her mouth, she whistled loudly. Nymeria stalked into the hall, growling at the crowd. Many of the men and women quickly stepped back when they saw the beast baring her teeth. 

Arya and Gendry walked back towards the exit, as Nymeria continued advancing, herding the people away from them. 

"Good girl," Arya said to Nymeria. "Listen up, people. Anyone attempts to touch my husband or me, and you can deal with my direwolf."

And with that, she walked towards the doors, pulling Gendry by the arm. Once they were safely out of the hall, she turned and called, "Nymeria, to me."

As they walked away from the Great Hall, the only thing that could be heard where the Blackfish's loud cackles.

* * *

They walked in silence towards the Main Keep and climbed up the stairs towards the family solar, where the chambers where Arya had been sleeping were. It had been agreed that once they married, those were to be their chambers, as they were far nicer than the ones Gendry had occupied. 

When they arrived at the great oak door, Arya turned to face her direwolf.

"Stay here, Nym. Guard the door."

They made their way inside, and Gendry noticed that the trunk with the few possessions he had brought from the inn, and the new clothes that had been procured for him, to show his new station, had been brought in. 

A few candles had already been lit, and a fire had been started for them. Arya closed the door, barred it, and then she turned back. They both stood in their place, just looking at each other for a few moments that felt far too long.

"We don't have to do anything," Gendry blurted out, rubbing his hands together nervously. " _They_ don't need to know."

"We'll know."

Arya's words made him lift his head to look at her. The determination on her face was one with which he was well-acquainted. It transported him back to Harrenhal, and the way she had not taken any of his complaints and arguments against escaping.

"I do not intend to continue being played as a pawn in the game. I am done with men pretending to marry me for their own gain."

Gendry looked at her as she unstrapped her cloak, and she let it fall at her feet. She then picked it up and draped it over the back of a chair. 

"I chose this marriage freely, and I will not let them challenge it," she continued, sitting down to unlace her boots, placing them next to her once they were off. She then reached under her skirt to remove the leather strap that had concealed the blades before, distracting Gendry for a moment. 

When she was done, she stood up and walked to stand in front of him once more. "Let the red woman have her soiled sheet. Prophecy or not, I will take my home and my life back."

Gendry continued to stare, and there was something on his face that suddenly sucked all her confidence out.

"That is… unless you do not want me," Arya finally said, looking down at her bare feet.

A frustrated growl, one that she was familiar with, got her attention.

"That's not the problem," he grunted as he looked away, shaking his head. He then pulled at the straps on his chest, taking his own cloak off, and then he threw it towards the same chair where Arya had placed hers. Next, she saw him kneel and unlace his own boots, making himself busy to avoid looking at her.

"Is it not? While I still look like a small boy?" She asked, getting his attention back on her.

Gendry stood up once more, and after shaking his head, he spoke, "You may have fooled others thinking you were a boy a long time ago, but you wouldn't be able anymore. You're a woman grown, Arya. There is no chance to make that mistake."

Arya walked towards him, close enough that she could touch him if she just extended her hand.

"What is it, then?"

Gendry placed his hand on her hip, the curve there was unmistakable under the grey wool.

"The question is if you can brave it."

"I've made my choice," she replied defiantly.

"Very well, turn around."

Arya did as she was told, so he would have access to the straps of the breastplate on her side, and once undone, he lifted it over her head almost reverently. Arya stood in the middle of the chamber, looking at him while he deposited the piece on a table in the corner. Gendry walked back to stand behind her, and his hands then busied themselves loosening the tight laces of her dress. 

As he worked in silence, Arya wondered how many corsets Gendry had untied, and while it was not cold there in that room in the Riverlands, and there was even a fire roaring in the hearth, she felt herself shivering. Syrio's voice reverberated in her mind, _'calm as still water. Fear cuts better than swords.'_

It was stupid to tremble after all that she had lived through already. Arya had not feared the presence of men who had wanted to make her bleed and cry. And while she was sure that Gendry would make her bleed that night to fulfill a prophecy out of the debt he felt he owed her, she was confident of one thing: he'd never purposely try to make her cry.

Once the dress was loose, it fell down and pooled by her feet. Arya had not worn the bindings she regularly tied around her breasts, as this time, it was necessary to show the world that she was a woman grown. When her wedding gown was off, and she was only clad in her smallclothes, she heard Gendry gasp.

Arya was grateful for the low light coming from the fires, as she thought there was not much there to see. But a growl, coming from her friend, now her husband, almost convinced her that there was. 

"Come here," he called, with a confidence she was not used to hearing in his voice.

She did, willing her hands to stop shaking as she went for the ties at the front of his tunic. He let her proceed, aiding her once they were loose by pulling it off his body from the back of his collar. The sight of his naked torso was not new to Arya, as she had seen it plenty growing up while he worked: red, and covered in sweat and soot. And then again, since she had found him once more at the inn.

With one hand on her waist, he drew her to him. He then set his other one delicately behind her ear, guiding her head, so he could place a kiss, even softer than the one he had given her by the heart tree.

After the kiss was over, his mouth hovered on her lips, and barely brushing them, he had said, "You're beautiful."

"Don't speak, please," she begged, convinced he was saying only what he thought was needed at the moment.

He seemed to be caught off guard at her command, but still, he heeded it. 

Her hands went then to the ties of his breeches, and she loosened them. 

When she started pulling them down, his own broad hand stopped her, choosing to do it himself. Gendry stepped out of them and of his smallclothes, and with his hands on her hips, he walked her back towards the bed. 

Arya was aware that he was now bare, but she kept her eyes fixed on his. He seemed to be rushing them both, mayhaps trying to avoid the awkwardness of seeing each other naked. It seemed silly to her since Gendry had never been shy about his body. She could still recall how he used to sleep nude, long ago, when they only had the clothes on their backs. At least, his sudden embarrassment distracted her enough from feeling self-conscious about her own body, and her perceived shortcomings for the pronounced curves she lacked. 

When the back of her thighs hit the bed, he aided her, grabbing a naked thigh and lifting her with ease onto the mattress. As Arya felt the plush featherbed under her, she moved back with her hands, until she was in the middle, and her head lay down, her eyes still fixed on his. He mimicked her movements, walking on his hands and knees. Despite the half-light, Arya was able to make up the form of his cock, bobbing with him as his eyes seemed to be fixed on her breasts. 

"Are you still sure?" He asked with his hand on the side of her smallclothes.

"Why are you being stupid?" she asked with that bold tone of hers. "Is it you or me the one who's supposed to be the blushing maid?"

"Just making sure there's no forcing here, _m'lady_."

"Don't call me that. I am your wife now."

Gendry did not know what emboldened him right then, or mayhaps it was that he did not know what to say in response, so he captured her mouth in his once more. He was almost sure she had made a sound close to a purr as he untied her last stitch of clothing, and he rid her of it.

While he kissed her, a voice in his head kept repeating that this was no milkmaid or innkeeper, but Arya, his friend, now his wife. It was hard to reconcile that the soft flesh under his hand, as he moved it, caressing her hip and her waist, and from time to time even coming to the underside of her teat, was something he always knew he couldn't dare covet unless he was not fond of his head attached to his neck. And now, not only was he getting away with it, but he had actually been cheered to take her to their chambers to make her his. 

Even though he no longer was a bastard, and that Arya herself had consented to lawful marriage to him under Northern custom, it felt like he was doing something wrong, something that ought to sentence him to take the black. 

He would have continued with his concerns if his lip hadn't been bitten enough to draw a drop of blood. 

"You're thinking too much," she chided him.

He was no stranger to the way that woman could rile him up, the only difference was that this time, the heat she caused in his blood was also rapidly traveling south.

"Am I now?" he countered, and his bold hands pulled at her hips and then slid down over her legs, setting behind her knees. He positioned her then so his hard cock could rest on her cleft. 

Arya hadn't been expecting it, and she found herself feeling exposed and breathing hard, the realization of just how vulnerable she was under him rapidly tinting her heaving chest crimson. 

Gendry seemed to like the sight, completely distracted, and not looking at her in the eye anymore. Instead, he bent to capture a rosy nipple with his lips, and Arya felt it puckering in his mouth. 

As he seemed to be having his fill of her teats, going greedily from one to the other, Arya had to close her eyes, the orange glow from the flames still dancing behind her lids. She could hear moans, sighs, and pants, though she was not sure if those sounds were coming from her or from Gendry. Though, she suspected it was both.

All the attention Gendry had on her chest had him moving up and down on her furrow. The way his movement was eased by her wet heat let him know that she was as affected as he was, emboldening him even more. He let go of her teats and took a moment to look at her, eyes closed, blush on her face and her breasts, and tiny marks from his sucking and bites on her teats. Something possessive in him made him position himself at her entrance. Holding himself there, he placed his other hand on the back of her head and kissed her again. Only until he felt her give into the kiss, he let himself sink in her flesh. He tried to go as slowly as he could, but he was too worked up and she was impossibly slick. Gendry felt himself entering her a bit faster than he intended, and he had to hold himself still as she clenched, and a muffled moan was caught in his mouth. The tension on her body was evident, and Gendry knew the sounds Arya was making were far different from the ones from just before. 

He was not stupid, despite what she always said. He knew she was in pain and that he was the one causing it. Gendry felt terrible, but still, her tight heat made it difficult not to be selfish. He tried to keep himself still, and brought his hand to her breast, trying to distract her with his thumb. He was able to feel her relax a bit, and the loosening of her flesh made him slide a bit more in. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized against her lips.

She didn't say anything, but she shook her head a bit, and he was not sure if it was as a response to him or to herself, to try to draw away her discomfort. 

He kissed her once more on the lips, and then he left a trail of kisses on his way to her ear, and he nuzzled the skin there, sowing gooseflesh as he went. 

There was no way to stop the pain, as it was the burden she had to endure, and so, feeling her relax a bit more, he took his opportunity and sank himself to the hilt. Her panting was loud, and it filled him with regret, but at least it was done. He was also sure that the sudden moisture he felt was not her reawakened desire, but blood. 

He kept himself there, with his forehead against hers, and he tried with his hand on her side, to soothe her, mumbling something quietly. 

After a while, he braved opening his eyes and seeing her with eyes scrunched, and pain painted on her face, he kissed her softly, on her cheeks, her nose, and her eyelids.

"We can stop now, the deed is done," he whispered in her ear.

"No," she was adamant.

"She'll have her bloodied sheet, I don't need to hurt you anymore."

Only then, she opened her eyes and held his face in between her hands, to force him to face her, she spoke, "No, we'll do what shall be done. There must be blood _and_ seed spilled on the sheet."

"But I'm hurting you."

"You're an idiot if you think this is the worst pain I've ever felt," she said with conviction, but he had been able to feel the way her nails had dug on his biceps.

He had seen some of her scars before, graces of a blade on her arms and face, and he was sure that if there had been enough light in the chamber, he would have seen more. He both feared and craved hearing the story of the years she was away from him.

"Let me try to make it good for you. Or at the very least, less painful."

"Do what you must."

It's not as if he knew enough to make it good for her, but he tried his best, taking a nipple in his mouth and letting his fingers play with the bit of skin between her legs. He was thankful for the task, as it helped him keep from doing what his body wished to do: to take her unrestrained. In the end, he did his best, and at least she didn't look quite in as much pain as she was before, though it was clear as the day that she was leagues away from bliss.

After a while, he had to get it over as soon as possible and stop her discomfort. And so, he closed his eyes and pictured the way she looked before he entered her, skin flushed and lips parted. Conjuring her in his mind was enough to make him spend himself inside her. 

Once he caught his breath again, he pushed to the side, and he lay down on his back, with his arm on his eyes, ashamed of himself. Arya felt her chest heave as well, and she felt cold all of a sudden without him.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, with his arm still over his eyes.

"Stop apologizing."

"It's hardly fair," he added, daring to move his arm, and turning his face towards her.

She was on her back, looking at the top of the canopy of the bed, her bare breasts moving up and down as she breathed.

Arya let out a sad laugh that made Gendry feel worse, "what's fair in this world?"

"I could try to make you feel good if you let me," he offered.

"No need," she tried to reassure him as she turned to her side to face him. "My pleasure was never part of the deal."

"Let me help you clean, at least." 

She simply nodded, and he went to the table with the mirror and basin of water. He took one of the pieces of cloth left there for their daily ablutions and walked back to the bed. He hesitated before placing it in between her legs, carefully cleaning her. Arya placed her hand on his and took the cloth from him. Gendry let go and lay down, looking away. 

"Thank you," she said after she was done, giving back the cloth to Gendry, who then used it to clean himself, and dropped it over his side of the bed.

Gendry sat up and gathered the covers that had been folded at the foot of the featherbed and pulled them up so they could cover themselves. 

They didn't say anything, and turning away from each other, they tried to go to sleep, not bothering to dress.

* * *

Arya felt warm and safe, as she slowly emerged from her slumber. She enjoyed the twilight state before being able to make coherent thoughts, feeling suspended in nothingness. Heat radiated from behind her, and the soft brush of hair on her back, and against her thighs tickled her a bit. Once the haze in her mind cleared, the scent of Gendry on her nose reminded her of what had happened the night before. 

She didn't dare open her eyes and took her time to feel him against her. Her head was resting on his arm, her back against his chest, and one of his legs in between hers. She could feel the steady movement of his breathing against her back. The scent of Gendry was all around, mixed with something else that she suspected was her own scent.

They must have kicked the covers during the night, and somehow found each other. The top sheet remained, tangled around them, and Gendry's hand, entwined with hers, kept her in place, just under her breast. 

Something in her craved the heat coming from him, and pushed herself closer. She must have moved more than she thought, because he groaned, and soon, he was moving against her too. She felt him stiff, rutting against her backside, and she felt heat of her own pool in her lower belly, on her chest, and on her face. She stood still and wondered if he meant to take her again. It wouldn't take much, just his hand parting her legs slightly, and he surely could push himself inside. The thought filled her with dread and something else that felt much like hunger.

Arya had expected the pain the night before, though not the things he had made her feel before he took her maidenhead. And there was another feeling in her heart, one she knew well. It was the hollowness Arya experienced when she finally learned to master the Waif's lying game. As Gendry rubbed himself against her, she wondered if she was just a supple woman's backside without a face.

It was then that Arya felt Gendry wake, as his breathing against her back changed, and he quickly pulled himself away. Arya didn't say a thing to save him from the embarrassment, but the voice inside her head mocked her, saying that mayhaps it was to hide hers. She pretended to be asleep, and still, with her eyes closed, she could hear him breathing in and out, trying to calm himself.

After a while, she felt the mattress dip, and she knew he had gotten up. When she finally turned around, she could see Gendry on the other side of the chamber, by the table with the washing basin and the mirror, cleaning himself.

Once he started dressing, she rose from the bed, holding a sheet to her body. Gendry heard her, and turned, with his breeches already on. 

"Good morning," Arya greeted him as she gathered her clothes from her trunk, choosing to dress in breeches instead of the dress from the night before, and she walked to where he stood.

Gendry hesitated, and finally spoke, "I could leave, to give you some privacy."

Arya shook her head, and without turning to face him, she let the sheet drop. Gendry turned a bit to the side, trying to avert her sight, though still able to see her in his peripheral vision. She had grabbed another piece of cloth, and she was busy wiping herself with it.

"We've been wedded and bedded," she spoke once she was done cleaning, and she started putting her clothes on. "It would be queer to have you leave our chamber for me to dress."

"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You never hesitated in the past, not when you needed to piss, nor when you went to bed."

"It's different now," he said with a shrug.

"We're equals now, and I am your wife."

And somehow that was worse, was what Gendry thought, but chose to keep to himself. He simply nodded and went back to getting ready.

When they were finished and had their boots on, their thoughts were interrupted by Nymeria's loud growl from the other side of the door, and a young girl's scream. Arya walked then to the door, and taking the bar out, she opened it, calling Nymeria to her side. Once the direwolf was inside, and she sat on her hind legs, Gendry was able to see the nervous servant girl, standing at the door.

"M'lady, m' lord," the girl spoke, keeping her eyes to the floor. "The lady Melisandre inquires if you are up and ready to break your fast."

"We are," Arya informed her, and the girl left, but soon the red woman was already entering their chamber, quickly followed by the same servant girl.

Melisandre walked briskly to the featherbed, and ignoring Arya and Gendry, she threw the covers to the floor, to bare the bed. Right in the middle was the telltale sign, a reddish stain, smeared and watered down at places. Melisandre bent over, and then she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. 

Gendry felt his face heat up, but it was not from the embarrassment he was feeling earlier with Arya, nor from his self-consciousness at the servant girl knowing, without a doubt, what had transpired between his wife and him the night before. No, it was unadulterated fury at the way that woman was making something so intimate that belonged only to Arya and him, another part of her ploy. He raged at feeling used, and he was sure he would have said something if it wasn't for Arya placing her hand on his wrist. When he turned to look at her, he saw her stoic face, clearly schooled to avoid showing her emotion, though he was able to see a faint blush on her cheeks that hadn't been there just moments before. 

"Well done! The lord will be pleased now that his will has been done," she said, and Gendry wondered if she was referring to her god or King Stannis. 

"Quickly, take the sheet," she instructed the servant girl, who was blushing violently, still with her eyes down, but hastily doing as she was told. 

Melisandre turned towards the door, but noticing the smeared cloth on the floor by the bed, she picked it up and left without saying anything else. 

Arya and Gendry walked out of their chambers, knowing what the red woman was going to do. There, out in the courtyard, stood a brazier, prepared for the offering to the Lord of Light.

They were surprised to find an audience already standing around, consisting of the king and queen, and their men, along with Arya's family. Melisandre had the girl place the sheet in the flames, and then she threw the soiled piece of cloth as well. After that, she recited words in a foreign tongue, as her arms were extended towards the sky.

Arya felt uncomfortable with the spectacle, and without looking, her hand searched for Gendry's. He took it in his and held on tight, the gesture bringing them both a bit of solace in the middle of the great violation of their intimacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed that. I don't think there is much more for me to say. 
> 
> Thank you all once more for reading and taking the time to write down your thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has a heartfelt conversation with her uncle Edmure about friendships and marriage. A strategy is discussed in the war room at Riverrun, considering the best allies to make in the Riverlands, the Vale and the North. And Queen Selyse brings up a concern that neither Arya nor Gendry had considered yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my great friend @thereluctantbadger for beta-ing this chapter.
> 
> This one is heavy with planning, but starting next chapter a lot of stuff will start to unravel.
> 
> Thank you all who have read and commented before. It takes me a little bit to reply, but I always make sure to reply to each comment.
> 
> And for those silent readers, I also appreciate the time and effort you've put in my writing, and even if we never get to interact, I want you to know that the fact that you read my work is a huge incentive for me.

The day after the spectacle of the burning of the nuptial sheet, Arya sat by the heart tree, watching her little cousin run around collecting flowers. It had been bittersweet when Arya found out that Roslin had named the girl after her husband’s sister, the same one that lay dying as the babe was being conceived. Still, Arya enjoyed watching the four-nameday girl, all auburn curls, and Tully blue eyes.

Before Riverrun had been won back, Arya hadn’t spent enough time with her cousin, between the battle and the preparations for the wedding. Still, now, she loved seeing the smile on her face, and the promise of a life without sorrow with her mother and newly-found father, the kind that only childhood innocence can make possible.

“She has her smile,” Edmure said as he sat next to her, while little Cat kept running around, coming by from time to time to show Arya all her flowers and to ask her older cousin to help her weave them into a crown. 

“Does she? I thought so for a moment, but it’s been so long _since…_ ” Arya explained, and then found herself unable to complete the thought. “I thought maybe I was imagining it.”

“I think she does. Or at least, she makes me think of Cat whenever she smiles.”

Arya took a moment to conjure her mother’s face in her mind’s eye. It was easy to hear her voice and feel her brushing her hair at night, but all the years that had gone by, since the last time she saw her, had made it difficult to form an accurate picture of her face.

“I was very young when my own mother died,” her uncle continued, interrupting her thoughts. “I don’t have memories of her, but your mother, she was like a mother to me.”

“I lost her when I needed her the most,” Arya added longingly.

“She’d be proud of you.”

Her uncle’s words made her turn to face him.

“Would she? I’m afraid I was never the daughter she wished me to be.”

“I sincerely doubt that, since you have _so much_ of her in you,” Edmure added, prompting sad laughter from his niece.

“You must be mistaken, uncle. My sister Sansa was just like my mother, she got all her beauty and her temperament. I took after my lord father instead.”

“Sure, you may not look like Cat at first glance. But I’ve seen you with my daughter, and with your orphans at the inn. Cat was like that, fiercely protective, and nurturing. Stubborn too.”

Arya felt the words get caught in her throat, and after swallowing, she added, “mayhaps, I didn’t know her well enough.”

“She would still be proud of you. You may think us Tullys different from the Starks, but the truth is that we are not much different. All that talk about _pack_ is not different from our words.”

Arya liked the thought of her mother looking past all her shortcomings as a good lord’s daughter, and instead, having her feel proud of the things she had accomplished. As Arya reflected on it, Gendry walked into the godswood, and little Cat ran to him. She ordered him to kneel, so she could set her flower crown on his head. For the first time, Arya imagined a life where her mother was not Lady Stoneheart, and where she would be happy for her and for the strong and gentle man who she had married, despite his humble beginnings. 

“Look, Arya! I think I was just crowned queen of love and beauty,” Gendry yelled from where he was, with a giggling Cat, dancing around him. 

Arya grinned widely, and turning to her side, she noticed her uncle eying her curiously.

“You knew each other before, didn’t you?”

Arya turned back to look at Gendry, and picture the boy he once had been.

“We did. Long ago, when we were children. I was smuggled out of King’s Landing and made to pass as a boy, with a group of recruits for the Night’s Watch. Gendry’s master sold him to them.”

“To keep him safe?”

“We didn’t know who his father was at the time.”

“Is he good to you?” Edmure asked.

“He’s my friend,” was all she was able to reply.

“Marriage is not easy.”

“You and Roslin?” Arya inquired.

“We only had one night together, and we made a child. But then I found myself falling in love with the memory of a shy girl who cried during our wedding feast and somehow found the way to trust me when we were alone. After I was released from the dungeons at the Twins, along with the other hostages, I finally saw Roslin again, with my daughter hiding behind her skirts. She said she had also thought of me during our time apart. Roslin, Cat and I were a family, but we didn’t know each other. Love can be built. And I love them both more than I ever thought possible.”

“I’m happy for you, uncle.”

“It’s a good thing that he is your friend. Your mother and father had far less than that. They weren’t too far from Roslin and me, having just about a fortnight together after they married and not seeing each other again until your brother Robb was already in your mother’s arms.”

“And yet they fell in love,” Arya responded, and a smile bloomed on her face, remembering how much her parents liked to kiss and show affection. “It took my siblings and me a long time to figure out that it was not the norm.”

“Your mother would say right now that it’s not luck, that you have to work hard for it, but looking at the way you two look at each other, I’d say you’re already luckier than most.”

Arya turned back to Gendry with little Cat, and she missed completely that her uncle could see more than deep friendship in both their eyes.

* * *

Later that night, Gendry came into their chambers, he petted Nymeria, who sat up from her spot by the fire, and next, he looked up to see Arya already in bed. Arya smiled when their eyes met, but then she saw something chasing him into himself, and he had stayed quiet instead of starting a conversation. Arya observed him as he sat down on a chair to unlace his boots and set them aside, and once barefoot, he took off his doublet and tunic. Gendry stood up to walk to the high table, and he wet a rag in the water basin to clean his torso from the remnants from the sweat and dust from the day.

Arya could see him, his back to her, as he performed his task.

“You’ve been quiet,” Arya called from her side of the bed, already in her nightshirt and under the covers. 

Gendry turned to look her way and he shook his head.

“I’m always quiet,” he replied, putting on a nightshirt of his own, just as he had done the previous night, even though Arya knew he preferred to sleep nude. 

“Not with me, you’re not. You didn’t say anything last night, and you are too quiet now.”

“Is there something we need to talk about?” he asked, sitting against the headboard, and pulling the covers over his lap.

Arya sat up and mimicked his position. 

“Tell me what has been bothering you. Is it something _I_ did?”

Gendry remained silent for a moment, looking ahead, at nothing in particular.

“No. Nothing you did,” Gendry finally sighed. “It’s what _I_ did.”

“What did you do?” she asked with knitted eyebrows.

“I hurt you,” he said with eyes cast down.

“When?”

“You know _when_.”

At his reply, she held his wrist, forcing Gendry to turn to face her.

“When you chose to stay with the Brotherhood?”

“Is that really what you think?” he asked, taking his turn to glower.

“We’ve talked about that,” Arya replied with a shrug. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I wasn’t talking about that.”

“Then what?”

Gendry looked at her with disbelief, and he placed his hand on her knee above the covers.

“I hurt you,” he said, closing his eyes, and after letting out a long sigh, he added, “at our wedding night.”

“You mean _that_?” Arya asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Of course, I mean that?! How could I not?”

Arya laughed, leaning into him.

“Why are you laughing?”

“That’s what is supposed to happen, _stupid_ ” she replied, sitting up again.

“Making you bleed and hurting you enough that you have to scrunch your face in pain?” 

“You may not be used to bedding maidens, but that is _exactly_ what is supposed to happen.”

Gendry turned back to the wall, focusing on an old tapestry. “Well, I don’t like hurting you like that.”

“You knew the marriage had to be consummated.” 

“Well, that’s done then,” he replied with that usual scowl of his, the one that let Arya know that he was still a bull, and he was digging his heels in the sand. “No need to hurt you _anymore_.”

Arya wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the way something inside her seemed to ache told her it was not that. 

“If that is what _you_ want.”

“I want us to be friends again,” he said, holding her hand in his, and burning her with his eyes.

Arya looked at him, and with all conviction she could muster, she replied, “We _are_ friends.”

Gendry felt frustrated, every time they bickered, words always seemed to flow easily between them, but right then, it was as if they were speaking different tongues. The conversation felt difficult, as a piece of steel that refused to bend into the right shape, and instead, it shattered despite all their hard labor.

“Listen, _that woman_ got what she wanted. I will not force you again.”

Arya could taste the bitterness Gendry surely had in his own mouth as he said the words. She couldn’t do anything but nod.

“It is no more their business what happens in our bed. Are you fine with that?”

Arya could not avoid thinking of it as a warning.

“Do you want us to sleep in separate chambers, then?” she asked, and she was not sure what answer would hurt her the most.

“No,” he replied, and the word brought her some relief. “Unless it is what _you_ want.”

It was a hard question to answer, and so, she told the only truth she knew.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

Gendry took both of her hands in his, and looking up, pleading with his eyes, he asked, “Will you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Gendry brought his face to her hands, and he kissed them. And with that, they went to sleep, back to back. 

* * *

The war room at Riverrun was set in the private audience chamber above the Great Hall. Every wall was covered with rich woven tapestries in blue and crimson, depicting the rich history of House Tully, and large leather maps were placed over the long tables in the middle of the room. Three days after their wedding, waiting for the king to join them, Gendry had already memorized each item in the war room, while Arya sat next to him, her left leg bouncing rapidly up and down as she stared at the great oak door.

Everyone stood up as King Stannis walked inside, with Ser Davos and the red woman trailing behind him.

“When are we marching towards Winterfell?” Arya asked without preamble.

“It’s not as easy as that,” King Stannis replied, and Gendry could already see the throbbing vein on his forehead.

Arya had started to feel the same itch from years before, when she had been stuck in the Riverlands, walking in circles. And now, she was beginning to fear she was doomed to do the same.

“We had a deal.”

“And we still only have just fifteen hundred men,” Stannis replied to her passive-aggressively. “The Lannisters are due to find out soon that they have lost control of the Riverlands. Tell me, _good niece_ , how long do you think it’ll take them to send their hosts and bring another wave of death and pillage? How long until your mother’s castle is retaken?” 

Arya didn’t reply, but she held the king’s stare.

“Riverrun’s garrison holds once more two hundred men, as those who were let go when we surrendered have returned,” Ser Brynden informed them.

“I thought they had only been spared if they promised not to hold arms against the Lannisters again,” Alester Florent intervened, his mention of the lions not sitting right with Stannis.

The Blackfish forced a smile and said, “Well, hearing of how Riverrun was won back by the Baratheon-Stark alliance, they’re willing to risk it. Honor is more important than the threat of death for good rivermen.”

Davos cleared his throat loudly, getting everyone’s attention, “Since the wedding, we have received promises of support from a number of the Riverlands houses.”

“Who has declared for us?” King Stannis asked.

“To start, the houses that remained loyal to House Tully,” Edmure explained, “all of them were here for the wedding: Blackwoods, Smallwoods, Grells, Paeges, Rygers, Wayns and Wodes, among some lesser houses.”

“And then there are the houses that found themselves forced to join the Freys and help the Lannisters, but after the death of Walter Frey and hearing that Riverrun was taken back, they have changed alliances. Among those are both branches of House Vance, as well as Roote and Charlton,” Ser Davos added. 

“Mallisters and Pipers will surely side with us, since Marq Piper as well as Jason and Patrek Mallister were prisoners with me at the Twins, and they were freed along with me, after my good father was killed,” Edmure explained, looking at Arya when he spoke of Walder Frey’s death.

He then continued, “There are several houses that married into the Freys, and my wife Roslin assures me, that now that her father and elder brothers are dead, there is a high chance we can get their support. Such is the case with houses Vypren and Erenford.”

“What about undecided houses?” Arya inquired.

“Houses Mooton and Cox. They sealed themselves in their castles and let their people unprotected during their sackings,” Ser Brynden replied.

“House Mooton, in particular, is an important ally to make,” Ser Davos stated. “They’re wealthy, and they control the harbor town of Maidenpool. It will be a key position to hold.”

Gendry had never heard about houses Mooton or Cox before, but he knew their kind well enough. Those were the ones that would pay Master Mott handsomely for bejeweled swords and tinted armor during the same season their vassals had nothing to eat. 

Arya expressed a question that many in the meeting held, “How do we get them to back us?” 

“It’s easy enough, really,” Gendry surprised everyone present by his intervention. “The only thing we need to do is make the arguments of how siding with us is in their best interest. _Fuck_ what is righteous and what is evil. Just show them how we can help them keep their hides and increase their coffers.”

The Blackfish’s laughter filled the room. 

“You’re a quiet, moody arse, but you’re not stupid at all.”

“We should also secure allies in the North,” Arya added.

“What we should do is plot how to get the Vale on our side. The knights of the Vale can either be a key ally or a formidable enemy,” Axell Florent added.

“The heir to the Vale is my cousin.”

Ser Axell seemed bothered by Arya’s reply.

“Yes, but your cousin is still a sickly boy. The real power behind the Vale is Petyr Baelish, who happens to be your late aunt’s widower.”

“And now that my sister is dead, he is their true ruler,” Edmure contributed.

“He is also the one who betrayed my parents.”

“He still believes himself to be Lord Paramount of the Trident. I’m sure he won’t be pleased to know that your uncle is once more Lord of Riverrun,” Davos expressed. 

“Rivermen are not happy that their brand new Lord of the Trident fucked off of here to become Lord consort of the Vale. We must take advantage of that,” The Blackfish added.

All present reacted to Ser Brynden’s comment, speaking all at once and making impossible to understand anything over the muttering. Stannis raised his hand to get their attention and then he proposed, “We must send ravens to the North, the Vale, and King’s Landing, announcing the alliance between Baratheons and Starks. And we should deliver an ultimatum to the Boltons, letting them know we know of their deceit, as Roose married his son to an impostor.”

“No,” Arya said emphatically.

“No?!” the king demanded.

“Write to all of them, let them know you helped return Riverrun to its rightful lord, and that the Riverlands houses are declaring their support for you. You should also let the Lannisters know that you hold Tywin’s sister hostage, as it should be a huge bargaining chip. And to the Northern houses, tell them that you will go to the Wall and aid the Night’s Watch. Tell them also that you will free them from the tyranny of the Boltons, but don’t mention that a false Arya Stark sits at Winterfell.”

“Why not?” Alester Florent inquired.

“Better not give time for Roose Bolton to prepare, or find a way to convince people that it is me who is the impostor.”

“What we need to do right now is spread the word of what we have accomplished and gather more support, _my lady_ ” Ser Axell proposed. “And we also should be growing our armies buying forces from the East. We ought to have sellswords sent from Essos.”

“And how are we to pay for those sellswords?” Stannis asked skeptically.

“We should secure a loan from the Iron Bank of Braavos.”

Arya knew about the Iron Bank and their policies, but she didn’t like having Ser Axell around, and she doubted he agreed with her plans, or with Gendry having been named Stannis’ heir.

“Mayhaps you, Ser Axell, or you, Ser Alester, should be the ones to deal with the Iron Bank,” she proposed.

“Alester stays with us,” the king was quick to intervene. Since his secret dealings with the Lannisters, promising to have Stannis renounce his claim, which cost him his position as hand of the king, he had made sure to keep him close.

“Surely news of your wedding, and of your actions will travel,” Ser Alester added, hoping to sow doubt in Arya’s plan.

“By word of mouth, but not by our own ravens. Let the people gossip, and the bards make up songs of our victories and progress. I’m a shadow, and what you cannot comprehend is also something you cannot vanquish.”

“Should I not mention that I have a Baratheon heir?” the king asked.

“Your grace,” Davos intervened, “I believe we should inform all Stormlands houses of the marriage alliance. If we write to them and tell them that you have given Storm’s End to Ser Gendry, as your heir, we should get their support, and mayhaps even convince them to send armies to our campaign.”

“You believe in this plan?” Stannis asked Arya.

“I do.”

“What about you, _nephew_?”

“I trust my wife better than anyone else,” Gendry said without hesitation, as he took Arya’s hand in his.

“We must also find a way to fortify the western and southern borders,” the Blackfish added.

“Emissaries must be sent, but only ones that have our complete trust,” Ser Davos stated.

Ser Brynden was the first to offer, “I’ll go south.”

“And I could go west,” added Ser Andrew Estermont.

“I can get started with the ravens,” Davos offered.

“We’ll wait for you to return,” Stannis said, looking at the Blackfish and Ser Andrew, “before we make any more decisions about our progress, or we send anyone to Braavos. In the meantime, Lady Melisandre, has the Lord shown you anything else in the flames yet?”

“He has, _my king_. Ships. A large fleet over the sea.”

* * *

That night, as they sat for supper, it was mayhaps one of the only times Arya and Gendry had seen Queen Selyse smile. 

“You look happy, your grace,” Davos greeted her, as she took a piece of bread and dipped it in the sauce on her plate.

“Plenty of things to celebrate, Ser Davos, not just a wedding. Surely the Lord of Light is about to grant us his favor, now that the prophecy of the Lady Melisandre has come to pass. The North will be taken back and given to the rightful heir and her Baratheon husband. The Riverlands and the North will then support Stannis’ rightful claim, and I imagine the Vale will soon follow suit. Before we know it, Stannis will sit on the Iron Throne, surrounded by his many male heirs, a blessing from the Lord of Light, for making his will come to pass.” 

The overly optimistic words surprised all who were at the table.

“Does this mean that there is news to celebrate, Queen Selyse? Are you with child?” Roslin asked. 

“Not yet,” the queen replied, with the smile of a blushing maiden, “but surely soon. House Baratheon will be reborn. R’hllor will reward Stannis, and very soon, I’m sure, he will also bless the North with its own Baratheon heir.” 

The queen’s words fell on Gendry as a bucket of cold water, and when he looked up from his plate to face Arya, he was able to see the same sudden dread in her eyes. He had always been wary of getting a bastard on a woman, and despite not being completely green, he had carefully avoided doing anything that would bring another one to the world. His gut reaction had been natural, though he had reminded himself that he was no longer a bastard. He had a name to pass on to his children, and a wife to boot. 

Not just a wife.

Arya.

Gendry had spent his seed inside of her, and he hadn’t given any thought to the possibility of a child having been conceived on their wedding night. Although, if his seed quickened in Arya’s womb, it would produce no bastard but a trueborn child. Though he was not so stupid to ignore that those would not be happy news for them both. Their marriage was just a means to an end, and a way for him to assuage his regret. On top of everything, they were still about to march into battle.

That night, when they got to their chambers, they both changed into their sleeping clothes in silence. And only when the candles were blown, and they were laying facing away from each other, he felt brave enough to speak.

“I shouldn’t have spent inside of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Arya asked, turning around in the dark.

“Don’t pretend like you are not worried too, I saw your face when the queen spoke of a Baratheon heir in the North.”

Gendry felt the featherbed dip as she got closer to him, and her hand pulling on his arm to make him turn towards her.

“We’re married. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. No point on worrying about it,” Arya explained.

“I rather you were not with child while we’re at war.”

Arya couldn’t pretend that Selyse’s words had not rattled her. She had not stopped to think about that possibility either, and until her moonblood came, or failed to come, there was no way to know for sure. They had only coupled once, and there was a chance that the seed did not catch, but her own parents had managed to conceive Robb on their wedding night, as had Edmure and Roslin, and even Gendry had been the product of only one encounter between Robert and the lowborn woman who had been his mother. 

Life had taught Arya to be practical, to let go of things that she could not control, and focus on those that she could. She knew better than mortifying herself about the possibility of having their child growing inside her. Despite all of that, she did feel unsettled. She had never imagined herself as a mother. Never while growing up, as Sansa played with beautiful dolls with perfect porcelain faces and meticulously stitched clothes. As her sister sang them to sleep, Arya was getting her dress skirts caked in mud, playing with her brothers’ wooden swords. Then later, they were on the run with Yoren, and Weasel would fall asleep, holding tight to her, and it was clear that the little silent girl had turned to her in the absence of her own mother, still Arya had not imagined herself in that role. 

That night though, and every coming night, in the dark, with Gendry’s warmth radiating to her skin, despite the distance on the bed, she’d place her hand over her flat stomach and wondered if there was something there. And like Gendry, she wondered what it would mean, to their friendship, and to the uncertainty of their future, where there were surely many battles to come. 

* * *

It was early in the morning when Shireen found Arya in the training yard. Arya was going through the water dance sequence with Fang for the first time. The longer grip of the estoc presented some new opportunities for handling the sword with two hands, and Arya was getting used to the change from her childhood blade to her new one.

“What do you think of the sword your cousin forged me?” Arya asked Shireen when she noticed her watching.

“I don’t know a lot about swords, but it looks remarkable when you move like that with it.”

“It’s called water dance. It’s a Braavosi style.”

“It does look like an elegant dance,” the young princess commented.

“Would you like to try it?”

Her good cheek turned red immediately.

“Oh, I’d be terrible.”

“How would you know before you try? Here, you can use my first sword.”

Arya walked towards Shireen, offering her the grip of her rapier by holding the blade.

“This is Needle,” Arya said, walking to her. “My brother Jon had it made for me.”

Shireen looked up, and Arya smiled, seeing something sparkle in her eye. Arya then performed a few movements in slow motion, asking the young princess to mimic her. They were at it for a long while, until a servant girl came to inform Shireen that the queen had summoned her. 

After Shireen left, Arya trained for a while, until she felt her muscles burn as a reward to her efforts, and then she walked to the Riverrun forge where she was sure Gendry was busy working.

“Where were you?” Gendry asked as he saw her out of the corner of his eye.

“Training. Shireen showed up, so I started teaching her the water dance, but the queen summoned her, and she had to leave.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Selyse heard about your sword lesson and called her to get it to stop.”

“She knows we will be going into battle soon, it would do Shireen well to know how to defend herself.”

“Do you still like your blade?” he asked, seeing Fang at her hip.

“I do.”

Gendry turned to look at the massive grin and her flushed cheeks, also noticing the hairs plastered with sweat around her face. The sight brought to the front of his mind the vision of Arya rosy-cheeked with desire under him. The sudden memory distracted him and, as he lost his train of thought, he reached for the piece on the anvil, burning his fingers in the process. He pulled them back immediately and cursed loudly.

“What did you just do?”

“Nothing, I got sidetracked.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, you come here, and you distract me, and then I make mistakes.”

“I distract you?”

“Aye. You distract me all the time with your endless talk.”

Instead of taking offense to his words, Arya smiled and added, “I didn’t know I distracted you with my endless talk, mayhaps I should go away then.”

“No! I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just said I get distracted.”

“What are you doing now, anyway?”

“Working on our armor. I have the vambraces ready, and I’m working on the pauldrons. Making chain mail is time-consuming, and I don’t know how long we have until we’re set to go, so I’m reusing some from the armor that was taken after the battle. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” she said, jumping off where she was sitting. “I’m famished. I’m going to get something to eat from the kitchens.”

Gendry saw her leaving, and he scratched the back of his head as he remembered the train of thought that led him to make mistakes like a green smith, and he felt the heat on his cheeks. 

He reckoned that there had to be worse things than desiring one’s own wife.

* * *

Nymeria had slept in their chambers for six nights straight, and Arya knew it was time to let her roam free before she had to scratch at the door to be let out. Arya could feel it humming under her own nails, along with a hunger that wasn’t satisfied when they had supper that evening with the Baratheons and Ser Davos.

“Lady Melisandre tells me that we are to sail north soon,” Queen Selyse brought up while they were waiting for the main course to be brought up.

“We have not made that decision yet,” Arya replied before the king opened his mouth, making Selyse turn to her husband for clarification.

“It is what the flames show,” he argued.

“The flames offer no context, and they are open for interpretation,” Gendry added.

“It has only been three days since Ser Brynden and Ser Andrew left. And I’ve only started sending ravens. We still have yet to receive any response,” Ser Davos explained, trying to ease the conversation.

“We need more support, and we cannot simply trust that enough houses are going to join our cause only because we sent ravens. We need to march north and rally support,” Arya explained.

“To which Northern Houses have you written, Davos?” the king inquired. 

“So far, only to those that are more likely to join our house, Stark loyalists that will declare for a Stark who walks with a direwolf: Reed, Mormont, Glover, Locke, and Tallhart.”

“What of House Manderly? We need White Harbor on our side if we are to sail there,” Selyse inquired.

“There is contradictory information to their loyalties,” Davos explained. “Lord Wyman was at Ramsey Bolton’s wedding to the fake Arya, but rumors point to him as the culprit for the disappearance of many members of House Frey that were involved in the Red Wedding.”

“Write to him, Ser Davos,” Arya ordered.

“Do you trust him?” Gendry asked, turning towards Arya.

“I do. Lord Manderly would not betray my family, not after the Manderlys were exiled from The Reach, and they found a home in the North.”

Davos turned to Stannis to see his reaction. The king remained quiet for a moment, and Gendry was able to see the vein on his forehead pulse before he nodded slightly.

“Very well, I will do so.”

“You better be sure, _girl_. And pray that Lord Wyman doesn’t inform the Boltons of our plans,” Ser Axell Florent warned.

“The Umbers should be on our side as well,” Arya said instead of showing intimidation. “Greatjon Umber was released along with my uncle Edmure. In your raven, mention that winter came for Walder Frey and that he died, clawing at his neck. Tell them a Stark made sure of that.”

“I will, my lady.”

“We shall wait to hear from Lord Wyman’s response, and Ser Andrew and the Blackfish’s news from the borders before we make a decision on our plans,” the king added.

“If Lady Melisandre has seen ships in the flames and Lord Wyman supports your claim, we must sail,” Queen Selyse reiterated.

Gendry could see the tension in Arya’s jaw, and next to him, the nervous fidgeting of her knee again. While looking at his uncle and aunt singing the praises of the red priestess, Gendry set his hand on his wife’s knee, feeling her calm under his palm, and he heard the tired sigh she exhaled. It was then that he turned to lock eyes with hers, and Arya’s left hand held his.

Gendry then made an effort to ask Shireen about her day, and the three of them were able to finish their meal without any more interactions with the king and queen. After supper, Arya and Gendry walked in silence back to their chambers, where Gendry had been surprised to find Nymeria missing.

“Where’s Nym?”

“Out. She needed to roam and hunt tonight.”

“Is there not enough meat to feed a direwolf in this castle?” he asked with sarcasm.

“There are some types of hunger that can only be fulfilled out in the wild.”

Gendry just hummed in agreement and busied himself, getting ready for bed.

* * *

Nymeria’s run had been furious, and Arya could hear her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears as they roamed the Riverlands. She had been vicious, and the hunger seemed to be never-ending. She was used to her wolf dreams, but that night, in particular, it was as if there was no more Arya left in her wolf form. She had woken violently, still disoriented of her whereabouts. Her heart pounded, and she could feel the sweat plastering the hairs that had escaped from her plait to her forehead. Her nightshirt was damp and sticking to her chest like a second skin. 

“Go to sleep, Arry,” Gendry’s gruff voice pulled her to reality, and she realized that she had been sleeping with her head on his chest, and her hand wrapped around his middle. 

When her eyes got used to the darkness, she was finally able to see better, aided by the low light that came from the embers in the hearth. She pulled herself to lie on her back until she could calm her breathing.

Once the storm inside mellowed, she turned to see Gendry next to her, still asleep, on his back, with his lips half parted. His chest moved up and down peacefully, and Arya noticed that he had taken his shirt off. Given how she was sweating, she imagined it had been the warmth in the chamber, or her own overheated body sleeping over him, which had prompted him to do so.

In the half-light, Arya could see the fine black hair on his chest, and the trail that went past his belly button and disappeared under the sheets. The sight pulled a flashing memory of a night a sennight before, and she could feel the ghost sensation of that fine hair brushing the shivering peaks of her breasts, still wet from his mouth. 

The memory made her gasp, and it provoked a dull ache in her lower belly. Arya had to turn away, rubbing her thighs together, and feeling the heat spread over her cheeks. She was not naive enough to not recognize the feeling, and it made her feel exposed. Arya heard Gendry groaning in frustration, the way he used to when they were kids, and her nightly prayer would disturb his sleep. It was then that she froze, realizing she had been squirming on the feather mattress. His slumber had been interrupted, though, and she felt his arm around her waist, pulling her back towards him.

“Quit your squirming, and go to sleep, Arry,” he grunted softly near her ear, and she could feel gooseflesh blooming all through her skin. 

Arya feared that he would be able to feel just how deeply he was affecting her, but soon he had gone back to snoring softly behind her head. 

Arya willed herself to sleep, choosing to leave the newly discovered sensations her husband sowed in her body for the morning instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one will feature visions from someone who is not Melisandre, and I cannot wait to finish that one, I can tell you.
> 
> Thank you once more for reading, and I am wondering what you think of the strategy planning and Arya and Gendry realizing that they have desire for each other.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre visits Gendry in his forge, to see if he can see the same as she does in the flames. Arya disagrees with the Red Woman, and she and Gendry go in search for a prophecy of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are couple of scenes here that I am really proud of, I hope you like them.

[ ](https://imgur.com/6F3dPef)

Gendry was no stranger to blood. There were scuffles in the mud of Flea Bottom that yielded bloody noses and skinned knees, and when his mother made it back from the alehouse and pulled him hard by the arm to walk him home, Gendry would hold on to her skirts, stained with blood from the patrons engaging in drunken fights.

When he was older, apprenticing with Master Mott, there was always someone who made mistakes. There were burns most of the time, but there were also cuts, from distracted apprentices polishing sharp blades. And on top of everything, bloody armor, brought in after tourneys, for mending.

It had been almost nothing, compared to their experiences on the road with Yoren, and even worse at Harrenhal. The time with the Brotherhood hadn't been any better, nor his time with Lady Stoneheart.

No, Gendry was no stranger to blood and guts.

It was close to a fortnight since he and Arya had a real conversation. They had gone to sleep on the same bed, facing away from each other, and woke up to each other's faces at dawn. They'd talked about their days, training, or building armor. They'd share meals, and they'd waited impatiently for news of the southern and western borders, and spent time with Shireen and Little Cat.

The one thing they had not talked about was the fear of life taking root in Arya's womb. Gendry worried that Arya could feel his eyes on her when she disrobed at night, and his hands itched to touch her and measure any change to her abdomen, but instead, he'd clench his hand into a fist. And all through that, Gendry couldn't know that Arya was trying hard not to think of a child with a full head of the blackest hair and eyes the color of the Essos sea. 

That morning though, Gendry had woken up while it was still dark out, and he felt Arya rouse, the bed dipping as she stood up. He'd turned towards her, and he saw her walking to the water basin as she did every morning, and bending over to pet Nymeria on her way there.

It was then that he noticed the bright crimson on her otherwise pristine nightshirt.

No, Gendry did not scare easily at the sight of blood.

But that morning, he did.

"Arya!" Gendry's stern voice startled her as she was petting Nymeria.

She stood up and turned around to face him, feeling uneasy by the concern on his face.

"What is it?"

"You're bleeding."

She reached between her legs and found herself wet, and looking at her hand, the fresh blood surprised her. She walked back to the bed, and removing the covers, she saw the dark spot on it as well.

She thought it silly that her cheeks heated at knowing Gendry had seen it, and she reminded herself that it wasn't anything of importance, not when they had lain together as husband and wife already.

"It's alright. It's just my moonblood," Arya said, with a forced calm tone, but still avoiding his eyes as she spoke. "At least we have one less thing to worry about."

Gendry let out a sigh he didn't know he had been holding, and realized that he was indeed relieved for that small mercy. Still, for the first time since the queen had made a comment regarding a Baratheon heir in the North, he let his mind picture Arya, swelling with his child in her belly. It was a dangerous thought, with the battles still to come. Gendry could remember the feeling of dread while he waited in the boat with Ser Davos and the others before Arya sent them the signal that she was on the other side of the Water Gate. It was unthinkable what it would be like to fear for her safety if she carried his babe on top of everything else.

And then there was the friendship they had been slowly rebuilding, once more trusting each other implicitly, and communicating with a look without the need for words. Their bedding had been a significant setback, but somehow, they had started to find their way again. The idea of what a babe would do to them was unbearable.

Still, there was something subversive tugging at his heartstrings, the image of a child of his with big grey Stark eyes.

* * *

Gendry had left their chambers soon after, sensing Arya's discomfort. He had made his way to the smithy before dawn, knowing it would take time to get the furnace hot enough for the work he had that day. By the time the sun was out, he had already managed to break a sweat, pumping the large bellows of the Riverrun forge to feed the fires. He grabbed a piece of steel with a pair of tongs, and placed it in the middle of the flames, while his left hand kept working the lever. There was something hypnotic in the way the flames danced around it, making it glow so it could be shaped.

"What do you see in the flames?" a voice hissed in his ear.

His hand stopped its motion, and he turned slightly to his right, careful not to lose attention from his task. The red woman's face was too close for comfort.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Do I _disturb_ your work, my lord?"

"No, but with sleeves like those, you shouldn't be too close to the flames."

"I am a red priestess, my lord. I do not fear fire," Melisandre whispered with a seductive smile.

Gendry shrugged his shoulders, turning back to his task.

"Well, I have worked at a smithy for as long as I can remember, and I learned the hard way what fire can do. Ask any smith, not fearing fire is just _stupid_."

"Tell me then, my lord. What do the flames tell you when you stare at them?"

Gendry had been looking at the steel, heating into a glow, as Melisandre came closer to him, her breath almost licking at his earlobe.

"Shall I tell you what I see in your fires, my lord? I see mighty stags, standing tall. I see swords made of fire, cleanly splitting our enemies in two, I see us journeying north over the waves, and standing by the great wall of ice. Tell me then, what do you see when you stare at the flames?"

Gendry let his mind wander as the priestess spoke, and he tried to spy those same shapes that she talked about, but there was no stag, nor ship, nor wall in the roaring flame, instead, the curve of a hip, half-parted lips, and eyes made of metal. Cold steel eyes that closed and then opened again, wolf-like, the color of molten steel. Despite the magic that the Lord of Light had let him see, since the Brotherhood, Gendry knew that what he always saw in the flames did not come from R'hllor. Fire had ever shown him the same thing, and this time was no exception.

What he saw in the fire did not come from any god. It was only what he wanted to see, an image of his longing. Just as children try to find dragons and knights in the shape of the clouds. Whenever he let the flames enchant him, it was always Arya he attempted to discover in them.

"My lord, tell me what you see," the woman pressed on.

" _Steel_ ," he said. "The only thing I see in the flames is steel."

Without looking, he sensed the disappointment his words had brought to the priestess.

"I did not expect to find you here, _Lady Melisandre_ ," a voice that Gendry felt came from his daydreams interrupted them.

"Lady Arya," Melisandre said with a small curtsy when she turned. "I was here to tell your lord husband what I see in his forging fires. And I wondered if R'hllor had blessed him with the gift."

Gendry abandoned his project, and he turned around to face his wife.

"If the Lord of Light decided to bless those who stare at fires for a living with the gift of soothsaying, the Street of Steel in Flea Bottom would not smell like shit. That much I can tell you."

Arya snickered at Gendry's comment and Melisandre's forced smile.

"Well," Arya spoke. "If you wouldn't mind, Lady Melisandre. I require a private moment with _my_ lord husband unless you are not done conversing with him."

"Of course, my lady," the priestess replied, bowing her head. Arya could tell when someone carefully picked a smile the same way one would choose from the hall of faces. They both saw her leave the forge, her hips swaying slowly under her crimson silks.

Once the woman was out of sight, they looked at each other, but the awkwardness from her flowering still hung fresh around them. Arya's cheeks pinked again, and Gendry found himself opening his mouth and no words coming out. He looked around to find something to hold, hoping that once he grasped a tool, it would whisper to his hands what to do, and rote labor would save him from embarrassment.

"Was she trying to make you see ships sailing north in the fires?" he heard Arya say from behind, as he pulled the ruined piece of steel from the flames, and he dropped it in a bucket of water.

"Among other things."

"Did you?" she insisted.

"Did I what?" Gendry asked, turning around.

"Managed to see her visions in the fires?"

"No, and I won't just do something blindly because she says her red god showed her something or other."

After that, he grabbed another piece of steel with the pliers, and he set it on the flames, working the lever to increase the temperature.

"You married me," Arya pointed out, and while he continued his work, white heat spread from the back of his neck down his spine. Gendry knew it had nothing to do with the heat from the forge.

"And _you_ married _me_ ," he called back, looking over his shoulder, "but it wasn't because we believed what some witch told us."

Arya didn't throw out a quip after that, but she didn't leave either. She stayed where she was, watching him work the lever until the piece in the flames glowed bright orange, and Gendry brought it to the anvil. She observed him in silence, and he handled the hammer, and he let it fall on the steel, bending the metal to his will until it revealed a shape he had seen where there was nothing before.

After a while, when he was pleased with his work, he removed the piece from the anvil, and he dunked it in a different bucket, that one filled with oil.

He had looked up then, through the hissing steam, and setting his eyes to fall on her once more, he spoke, "You told her you had something to tell me, was it just to get rid of her?"

"Yes and no," was Arya's honest response.

Gendry grabbed a rag and cleaned his hands with it, coming to stand in front to her, bending his head until their faces were close, to make sure that no one else would listen to their conversation.

"What is it then?"

Arya felt his warm words on her own lips. For a moment, she wondered how hard it would be to raise herself on tiptoes and brush her own lips to his, but that was not the moment for those selfish feelings. Not when the reason that had brought her to the smithy before had been well justified. She knew it the moment she had been close enough to see the dark red gown pressed against Gendry's side.

"I have a bad feeling."

* * *

At midday, they were summoned to the war room by Ser Davos, who had news from his inquiries regarding new possible Riverlands and Northern allies. The same attendants waited for the king, as the previous war councils, except for Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Andrew Estermont, who had journeyed to the west and south, along with men to post at the borders to fortify the Riverlands limits.

As soon as the king arrived, followed by his red priestess, he addressed his Lord Hand, "Davos, you have news for us."

"Yes, your grace. We have received ravens pledging support from some of the houses we had identified as potential allies, and others eager to meet with us and meet your heir and his new wife."

"House Mooton?" Melisandre asked impatiently.

"I haven't asked them directly since I learned that Lord Mooton betrothed his daughter Eleanor, rather reluctantly I must say, to Dickon Tarly, the son of Lord Randyll Tarly, as it could mean that House Mooton would not be agreeable to side with us."

"Alester," the king addressed his wife's uncle, "isn't your daughter married to Randyll Tarly?"

"She is, your grace, but Randyll is not a man easily manipulated, less even by his own wife."

"Is sailing out of Maidenpool out of the question then?" Gendry inquired.

"Not necessarily. We have also received a raven from Ser Brynden. He is on his way back, but he sent vital information regarding the situation at King's Landing. It appears that the Lannister armies, as well as the Reach armies sworn to House Tyrell, have been called back to the city. The Faith Militant has imprisoned Queen Margaery. Lord Tarly's hosts remain there, and it seems that the Tyrells may be out of favor now, and there is a break in relations between them and the Lannisters."

"What does that mean for our progress?" Arya asked.

"I believe that Lord Mooton could be more agreeable to dealings with us, now that his daughter's betrothal may not be as profitable as it was before."

"He sounds like someone who would be open to bet on both sides," Gendry added.

"My thoughts exactly."

The king spoke next.

"What do you propose then, Davos?"

"I have sent word to Salla, to meet me in Maidenpool," the Onion Knight answered, and noticing the question on the faces of some of those present, he clarified, "Salladhor Saan, an Essosi acquaintance of mine, who joined our cause before the Battle of Blackwater."

"Will you be meeting with Lord Mooton?" was the king's question.

"That's my plan."

"Then it is decided," the red woman was quick to intervene. "Once you convince him, Ser Davos, then we should sail North. The Lord of Light has been clear in his flames. He showed me our hosts over the waves, and the prince that was promised at the great wall of ice."

"I do not believe in your Lord of Light, of what you see in the flames," Arya's icy tone was not lost on Gendry.

The priestess looked at her, and tilting her head sideways, she spoke with a wide smile.

"And yet you agreed to marry and lie with a stag based on my visions."

"Just because we share similar objectives doesn't mean that I believe in your god, or the way you interpret your so-called visions," Arya retorted, leaning forward over the table.

"Blasphemy!" Ser Axell yelled, slamming his fist over the table, and making the wooden figures that represented their armies fall.

"Do not talk to my wife like that, Ser, or you may find your head caved in," Gendry yelled back, bracing himself on the table with two hands.

"Quiet, both of you!" the king admonished them.

Ser Davos cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"I wrote to Lord Manderly as well, I was more sparse with the information I shared with him. I mentioned that I knew of his interest in seeing a true Stark in charge of the North once more."

"What did he reply?" Arya asked.

"He is most keen on meeting with us, as are other Northern houses."

"We must march north then," Gendry proposed.

"The Lord of Light shows nothing of this in the flames," Melisandre reiterated.

Ser Alester spoke then, "Even if we make our way through the Neck, we'll be ambushed by Bolton men. Sea is a better bet."

"Enough enemies by sea as well, Ser," Edmure offered. "The Redwyne and the Iron fleets."

"Not to mention that we need more men and support. I'll meet with those who were loyal to my father and my brother. A true Stark with a direwolf will be compelling enough."

Gendry noticed that the red woman had lost her well-trained smile, and instead, she scowled.

"R'hllor favored us when we heeded his designs!"

"R'hllor _abandoned_ you when you failed at Blackwater!" Arya barked back.

"Silence!" The king ordered, killing all the muttering in the room. "There are still many things to consider. We will wait for Ser Brynden, and see what Davos can arrange with Lord Mooton. I will make a decision then."

And with that, the council meeting was adjourned.

* * *

That evening, when Gendry was sitting on their bed, taking off his boots, Arya paced the room, after having declined the offer to meet their families for supper.

"If you keep pacing like that, you'll make a groove on the wood floors."

"She is mistaken," Arya replied, without stopping.

"Who? The red witch?"

"We must march north."

He stood up then and walked towards her. Nymeria rose from where she rested and walked along with him until they were both in front of Arya. Gendry stood in her way, forcing her to stop, and gently placing his hands on the sides of her shoulders, he forced her to look up at him.

"When your uncle returns, he'll back you, no need to worry yourself like this."

"He listens only to her."

There was no question about who she was referring to. And Gendry feared Lady Melisandre's hidden agenda for him and Arya.

"He believes all that prophecy horseshit," he said, letting go of her and walking towards the fireplace, with his hands on his hips.

Arya saw him, looking into the fire, one of his hands coming to hold on to the mantle, and a scalding hot tongue licked inside of her chest, reminding her of the sight of the red woman whispering something in Gendry's ear, as they both stared at the flames. She had said she wanted to know what Gendry could see in them. The bright green wildfire seethed in her head, but instead of wallowing in it, Arya held on to the idea it sparked.

"That's it."

"What's it?" He asked, turning around to face her.

"We need a prophecy of our own."

"And how are we going to do that? Last I checked I see shit in the fires."

"Put your boots back on, we're riding south."

"At this time?" Gendry thought it mad, but still, he did as she told him.

"Yes, quickly, we must find Tom."

He raised his head from his endeavor at that, "What do we need Tom for?"

"A song."

* * *

They galloped through the night despite Tom's complaints. Nymeria ran along them without tiring. It was still dark by the time they arrived, but surely the first rays of the sun would shine soon. Gendry had not asked her any more questions, but once they came at the high hill, and he saw the ring of stumps he had counted with her long ago, he knew precisely who they were looking for.

Tom didn't say anything as the three of them dismounted, and Gendry realized he had known where they were headed all along. He remembered the last time they had ran into the ghost and the way she had spoken to Arya. The stakes were high if she was willing to return, despite the terrible things that the woman had said to Arya the last time they saw her.

As if the small pale woman had known they were coming, she soon made herself known, ambling, aided by the same gnarled black cane they remembered.

"You've come again to me, wolf child, death child. Want to hear of my dreams again?"

"You told me once my heart was dark."

"Aye. The sorrow painted your heart black, but it beats bright red now, despite its ache."

"I require your visions," Arya said, getting closer.

"They're not visions, child. Only dreams the gods whisper in my ear. You dream too, wolf child. But my dreams don't leave my belly full of flesh and blood."

"Tell them to me, please, and you may have your song," Arya pleaded, turning her head back, so the ghost could see Tom, walking towards them with his woodharp in his hands.

She sat down with difficulty, and she leaned against a stump. Tom walked towards her and sat next to her, careful not to touch her. Meanwhile, Arya and Gendry both sat on the ground in front of her.

"I dreamt of you, wolf child, lying with your bull," the old woman said, making sure to look at Gendry, and pointing to him with the black cane. "I saw you clad in steel. They may have wed you to a stag, but believe me, I've seen you in your bloody bed, birthing only wolves."

She took a moment to breathe deeply, and she smacked her dried lips together before she continued.

"Then, I dreamt of a hidden dragon, dying in the snow, and your tears raising the dead. In that wretched dream, there was a white songbird, a prisoner for years in her black cage, singing fearfully, perched on the mouth of the sky, wary of a hand that threatens to wring her neck when her song ends. And beyond the ice, I dreamt of a wolf that flies with wings he stole from a raven. But oh, he dreams worse dreams than I. And in the end, they showed me a pacing wild wolf, waiting for his chance to cross the sea, done having his fill of the flesh of men. Are these the dreams you crave, dark child?"

It would be a lie to say that those visions didn't tighten Arya's belly into knots.

"I want the dreams you had about my home."

"Oh, I also dream of your home. You will find yourself there when you make your bed in the bloody snow. There you will weave your stories together for him once you shed all your bloody faces."

"You still haven't told me what I want to know."

The old red eyes stared at her, and her chapped lips twisted into a wicked smile.

"Fine, here is the last one: I've dreamt of you treading through mud, where a lizard-lion will tell you about a promise made by the headless man, but beware, wolf child, of the leech that hisses into the stag's ear. She longs to feast on the blood that is meant only for your belly. That's enough, now give me my song."

Tom turned to Arya, and once she nodded, he started to pluck his strings and sing about Jenny of Oldstones, and it was as if the notes unlocked big fat tears on the ghostly face.

Gendry pulled Arya away, far, until Tom's song was nothing but a hum.

"Do you have what you need?" He asked, with his hand on her arm.

"I have plenty to think, but I know we need to walk through the swamp."

"Are you fine?"

His question made her raise her eyes to set on his, the light of dawn showing an impossible hue of blue in them.

"Why do you ask?"

"I heard it all as well."

"Did anything make sense to you?"

"No, not all, but I'm not stupid enough not to know her riddles tell there is much to fear ahead."

Arya didn't stop the hand that itched to touch his tense jaw. It rested there, on the stubble, and she noticed his eyes closing, his jaw tensing a bit more, and then, after swallowing, loosening. His own hand came to rest on top of hers.

"We lived through worse," she pointed out.

He opened his eyes then, to see that their faces were close enough to touch.

"And we paid dearly for it."

Arya let her head fall on his chest then, and he embraced her, making sure to wrap her under his cloak. It was true that he didn't understand all of the things he had heard, symbols that had no meaning for him, but they did for Arya. The ghost of High Heart had talked of wolves and death. But he had understood the visions that spoke about him, he was the bull she had lain with, and the stag she had wed as well. And he couldn't stop himself from fearing what the dwarf woman had said about Arya birthing only wolves. He felt guilty because that was the prophecy he feared the most: that it wouldn't be his children growing in her womb.

They remained there, listening without speaking, and then he rested his face on the top of her head, the savage scent of forests from her hair, making him feel as if the thirty-one stumps surrounding the top of the hill had come alive again and grew into tall weirwood trees in his mind.

* * *

They rode back without rest as they had on their way to High Heart, despite Tom's complaints. The old woman had left just as she had appeared, her white hair trailing behind her on the ground, and only the sound of her twisted black cane, getting quieter and quieter until they could no longer hear it.

Once inside the Riverrun walls, when the sun was high in the sky, they headed towards the stables. As they dismounted and walked their horses, they were told of the summons of the king. They parted with Tom and told him to go by the cellars and say to the man who tended it that Lord and Lady Baratheon had gifted him a bottle of Dornish Red of his choosing, which sweetened the mood of their friend.

They met with Stannis in the war room, and as soon as they entered, they could see his displeasure.

"Where did you go?"

"South," Gendry replied, to the fury of his uncle.

"That much I knew, from the guards at the gate that saw you leave. I would have appreciated it if you had run this outing of yours by me first."

"I did not know we were your hostages," Arya said defiantly.

The king huffed and then spoke, "You are not my hostage, but our alliance is of the most utmost importance for both of us."

"Three of us," Arya clarified.

"Fine, will you tell me where you went?"

"I do not agree with Lady Melisandre's visions of our coming strategy."

"And that prompted you to ride south?"

"We needed visions ourselves, and I went to find them from a source I trust."

"Careful with what you say, girl, I've seen what R'hllor can do, and I have my trust in Melisandre's advice. Who did you consult then?"

"A ghost," Gendry replied.

"So, you are willing to keep playing with me."

Arya sighed and answered, "A witch, a ghost, a child of the forest, or just an old dwarf woman, does it matter? What matters is that we need to march north. There were no ships in her visions."

"And what you propose then? We have no horses enough for the journey."

Arya knew that was true, and marching north with a large convoy of footed soldiers would make the journey longer, and made them far more vulnerable to an ambush.

"We should split our host. We'll march while you send half your men from Maidenpool to White Harbor. We shall meet there and sail together to Eastwatch-by-the-sea. By the time we meet with House Manderly, we should have gained new allies from more rivermen and northerners. That way, we will be heeding all the visions, from your god and mine."

"We still need to gain support from House Mooton," the king pointed out.

"Ser Davos should accomplish that, and I've heard his pirate friend holds a fleet of nine and twenty galleys."

"We will wait for Davos and your uncle then, I shall make a decision only until we have all the information available."

* * *

They walked to their rooms in silence, exhaustion making their feet feel like lead. By the time they made it inside, they just had enough energy to take their boots off, and crawled into bed, still wearing their mud-caked leathers. Nymerya lay down by the fire, and Gendry pulled the heavy silk drapes over the windows, and they fell together into a dreamless sleep.

Gendry did not know how long they had actually been able to sleep when loud knocks came on the door, but after he stretched, and wiped his eyes, trying to focus, he got up and peeked outside the window to notice it was dusk already. He walked to the door to find an errand boy, who informed him his uncle wanted to see him in the war room. Gendry simply nodded and went back to fetch his boots and whisper into a half-asleep Arya's ear that he had been summoned by the king, and that on his way back he'd get them both supper.

The king was in no better mood when he arrived than he had been as when they had been summoned on their way back from High Heart. Stannis demanded to know where they went, and Gendry responded to each one of his questions, though in his characteristic frugal fashion. Then Stannis had gone on a tirade about how despite his humble upbringing, he was still a stag, and he was expected to act like one. He had to think of his house and keep the interests of House Baratheon above all else. Gendry understood that 'all else' meant above the interests of his wife.

Stannis' tone did not intimidate him, as he was used to high born lords speaking down on him, complaining about Master Mott's high prices, and pointing out made up fails in their weapons or armor. He knew his place, and he had never said what he really thought, neither he bashed any customer's heads in. Still, Tobho had taught him to feel pride in their craft. At first, he'd come and calm but firmly, he would tell lord so and so that the piece was flawless, showing him the craftmanship. Tobho would then say that his prices were the highest on the Street of Steel, and his lord was welcome to visit any of the other smiths. Still, no one would be able to give him a sharper edge, short of it being Valyrian steel, nor they would produce more resistant armor, and beautifully decorated with the sigil of his house, tinted to its colors. Those haughty lords would change their tune, still showing their unhappiness, but they would place their complete payment on the table, and continue to find their way back to Tobho's shop again before a tourney.

"It would serve you well to control that wife of yours," his uncle had said with exasperation. "You're the man. Wear the breeches and put her in her place."

Gendry clenched his fist, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"There is nothing wrong with my wife, your grace. Is that all that you require of me?"

The king stared at him for a moment, and with a forced smile, he dismissed him.

* * *

Gendry walked towards the kitchens and waited awkwardly as one of the servants gathered an assortment of foods and drink into a basket that he could bring back to their rooms. They had offered to send maids and serve a proper meal in their chambers, but Gendry was still unaccustomed to order things as a lord would and be waited hand and foot. He said that he preferred to wait for the basket and bring it himself. He stood there, watching them prepare it, while a couple of the younger girls stared and blushed a bit when he caught them.

As he walked towards their rooms, he decided that there was a reason why Arya was always the one to do that, since she loved to talk to everyone and ask questions regarding their chores. Gendry was sure Arya knew all the kitchen attendants by name and the place in the larder where they stashed the best cheese and ham.

He opened the door to their chambers, his hands heavy with the basket and a jug of ale and two tankards. The sound of splashing called his attention once the door was closed, and when he turned towards a corner, he found the old copper tub there, and Arya submerged in it, head tilted back and eyes closed.

"Hmm… I'm sorry, the door was not barred," Gendry explained, standing there, still with everything in his hands.

"Why would I bar the door?" Arya asked, without bothering to open her eyes.

"For starters because you are naked in the tub."

"Everyone else would have knocked, besides my husband."

Gendry was trying not to look towards her, but her voice had that playful tone of hers that she used when she liked to tease him. It also had the allure to make him turn to look at her, her naked body was submerged, and only the top of her chest was visible, including that teasing freckle that he had seen for the first time when they sparred in front of the inn orphans. The bath had been prepared with scented herbs, and they obscured her form a bit, but not enough that Gendry couldn't see her shape, or miss the darker tone of her nipples, and the hint of the thatch of hair in the apex of her legs.

"I could have been someone else that decided not to knock," he said as he walked away to settle the basket on a table, and to force himself against standing there, leering at her naked body.

"I know your heavy steps."

"I can come back when you're done," he offered, turning back once he had deposited everything on the table.

Arya lifted her head and opened her eyes, looking to the side.

"You can look away if my nudity offends you."

Gendry wasn't able to suppress a snort.

"Hmm, no, not offended," he said, walking back to the place where the tub stood.

 _'Quite the opposite,'_ he thought.

"Pull up a chair and tell me what your uncle wanted."

Gendry did as she asked, placing the chair by the tub, and then he went back to the table and poured a tankard of ale. Arya moved to the side of the tub, observing him. He then walked back and took his seat by the tub, holding his ale and trying to not focus on the pale skin he could still see. Arya, crossed her arms over the rim of the tub, waiting for him to reply.

"What do you think?"

"Did he scold you about our outing?"

"Among other things," he replied, and then took a long sip.

"You're not going to tell me?" She asked, pulling the tankard from his hand, and taking a sip of her own, her eyes, not leaving his. When she did it, the top of her breasts were more visible to him. Gendry squirmed in his seat, and quickly stood up, and went to get the other tankard.

"Do you want me to tell you how he commanded me to control my wife?"

Gendry had expected Arya to rage at Stannis' suggestion. Instead, she stared at him, and raising one eyebrow, she asked, "Did he? What did you reply?"

Gendry shrugged and pursed his lips, "I said there was nothing wrong with my wife."

Arya stared for a moment, and then she took another sip, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand afterward.

"Good."

They stared at each other for a few moments, until Gendry finally uttered the thoughts he had dancing in his head.

"Arya?"

"Yes?"

"What did she tell you?"

Arya didn't have to ask who he was referring to.

"You heard it."

"Aye. But you know I did not understand all that she talked about."

"She said that we have to march north through the Neck. The lizard-lion, that's House Reed's sigil."

Gendry nodded at the new information. That was all Arya needed to be convinced they were not to sail from Maidenpool. Still, that information did nothing to calm his worries.

"There was much more than that."

"My brothers," she responded, and her eyes rolled up and to the right, visiting memories that Gendry was sure he'd never be privy to.

"Jon?" He dared ask.

"I'm sure of it," Arya replied, but then, she brought her thumb to her mouth, and she bit nervously at the nail. "But she talked about two different wolves."

Arya gave him back the tankard, and she set her arms once more over the rim, letting her face rest on them as she looked at him.

"The other wolf has to be either Bran or Rickon," Arya ventured.

"I thought you said they were killed."

"That's what I believed all this time."

"What of the dragon?" he asked.

"There are no more dragons left," she responded, shrugging her shoulders, and very briefly revealing a rosy nipple.

Arya didn't notice, and Gendry was thankful that she was also oblivious of how the sight sent heat south of his belly.

Crossing his legs, he spoke, "She talked about a hidden dragon, maybe there could be one up at the Wall."

"Mayhaps, but in any case, men at the wall renounced their houses. If a Targaryen took the black, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Could the other wolf be your sister?"

"I don't think so. I think Sansa was the songbird."

Arya seemed to look above him, towards another time, and Gendry was able to see how an invisible string curled the corner of her mouth ever so slightly.

"You're sure of that."

"My sister loved songs," she explained.

When Arya brought her eyes back to him, she could see the scowl on his face.

"What is it?"

Gendry shook his head and responded, "I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"All she said about your tears and blood. I don't like it."

"They are symbols. They could mean many things."

"Aye, they could mean many things, but I reckon all of them are bad."

Arya splashed some water towards him, making him react.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"You're being stupid. Go fetch me my robe if you're going to be like that."

Gendry did as he was told and held the robe towards her, looking away. He was able to feel her take it from his hands, and after a few moments, he heard her, going through the basket.

"We shouldn't waste the warm water, you ought to take a bath."

"I'm fine."

"You stink. We rode overnight and a good part of today, and I'm sure your arse is sore, it'll do you well to bathe."

"You want me smelling all flowery?" He asked, and she felt something fluttering in her gut at the jest in his words.

"It wouldn't hurt," she replied, walking towards Nymeria to feed her ham from her hand, and making sure to he could see her face over her shoulder, "since we sleep in the same bed."

* * *

Sitting at his large oak desk, the widowed lord consort of the Vale and current regent had been busy reading ravens and reports from his little birds. News from the Riverlands had frustrated him, despite his ability to stay calm and to find opportunity in any adversity. But just as he did the previous ones, he had to scrunch up the piece of parchment, and he threw it into the fire.

He had read of Edmure Tully being reinstated as Lord of Riverrun after Stannis Baratheon's army had taken back the castle from Emmon Frey. He had not been surprised, as he knew Emmon was not a particularly astute strategist. He had been informed a fortnight before of Walder Frey's death amid suspicious circumstances, and how House Frey had been crumbling down, his male heirs resorting to kinslaying to become Lord of the Twins. He also realized that his own standing as Lord Paramount of the Trident was rapidly collapsing. Littlefinger knew he had to count his losses there, and center his attention on the Vale. As it was, several of the lords of the Vale resented him for the way he had gained his status and title, and considered him unsuitable to serve as regent of the Vale of Arryn, having young Robyn as his ward.

But the news that concerned him the most were those of Stannis marrying his newly acquired heir, some lowly bastard of Robert Baratheon, to an unknown relation to the Tullys and the Starks, gaining Stannis traction and backing his claim as king. There were also many accounts of a Stark roaming the Riverlands in the company of a direwolf. The mere presence of the beast challenged any argument of it being a false Stark.

The question was who this lost Stark could be. He knew better than anyone else that it could not be the fugitive Sansa, and he seriously doubted it could be one of the young Stark boys rumored to have been killed by Theon Greyjoy after his betrayal. Petyr also knew better than others that the young Stark daughter that had been married to Roose Bolton's legitimized bastard son was none other than a simple Northern girl he had trained in one of his brothels, and not Arya Stark.

Palming his bearded chin, he conjectured that this had to be the lost younger daughter of Ned Stark. The same one that had fallen through the cracks and managed to escape from Lannister's hands during the confusion the apprehension and later execution of the Warden of the North caused. No one knew what happened to the real Arya Stark, and where she had gone during those long years.

Petyr Baelish knew he needed more information if he was to succeed in his plans. It bothered him that this new development seemed to be forcing his hand and hasting his well-laid plans. He stood up from the desk and walked towards the window. Through it, he could see the raven-haired girl who played with his sickly ward, while he pondered his next move.

Yes, the boy had feeble health, and a sad look since his mother had been unfortunately taken from the world.

It would be a shame if sorrow and the poorly constitution of the Arryn stock snuffed his weak light.

A shame, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on the prophecy?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry, along Stannis' host march north. They will make a stop at the inn of the Kneeling Man, and meet with someone from their past. There, they will also hear the rumors regarding their alliance and realize how their friendship has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out to Kat, the-bisexual-disaster, for helping find something in the books that I couldn't remember where it was. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one, it was fun to write, and I'm sure you'll figure out what I'm referring to.

[ ](https://imgur.com/BGG44fA)

"The Lord of Light commands us to sail north."

Arya could feel her morning meal souring in her gut at the red woman's insistence. 

The Blackfish had arrived a sennight after he sent a raven telling them of his news from King's Landing, three days after Ser Andrew Estermont had made his way back himself. Five days after, they were now meeting again in the war council room, with Ser Davos fresh from his trip back from Maidenpool. 

"Ser Davos was able to arrange with Lored Mooton the use of the Maidenpool harbor and Salladhor has brought his galleys to transport our troops, R'hllor has shown us his blessings," the priestess continued.

"Has he now? Here I thought it was just Ser Davos' keen negotiation skills and his acquaintance with the right people," Arya added, unable to contain herself.

Melisandre turned towards her and, for a moment, anger burnt in her features, but taking a breath, she schooled them back and smiled once more as she continued, "His ways are not obvious for the uninitiated."

Arya felt the wolf in her awake, but Gendry's hand on her leg stopped her from saying what she really believed of the Lord of Light and his priestess.

"What of the southern and western borders?" Ser Davos inquired, deviating the conversation. "How many men should we sent there to avoid losing all that has been gained?"

"King's Landing is in shambles and at the brink of an insurrection from the Tyrells if Margaery is found guilty. Rumors are that Cersei allowed the Faith Militant to reform intending to remove the Tyrell girl, but it turned on her, and they are both prisoners now. That called for the Lannister and Tyrell armies and their loyalists to retreat back to the capital. On the other hand, I met with all our allies on the south of the Riverlands, and we set up plans to fortify them, taking advantage of what is happening in King's Landing. We should send some men there, but they have already started arming themselves."

"It's a very similar situation to the western borders," Ser Andrew added. "Also, there are several Reach and Westerlands houses that seem displeased with both Tyrells and Lannisters and who I believe would be open to joining our cause instead."

"What of the Stormlands?" the king inquired.

"I've received word from all the houses I contacted. They are particularly interested in their new Baratheon lord. I must say, they were very moved by his story, being a son of Robert, and having been a blacksmith. The smallfolk seems particularly keen to follow him."

Stannis' jaw seemed to tense with Ser Davos' account.

"Of course," the Onion Knight continued, "Stormlanders were drawn by your grace, taking in your nephew as your heir, and legitimizing him. That alone has gained us support from most of the houses."

"Will they send us men?" Melisandre asked.

"It is tricky. There are not many men or resources left, and attempting to reach us by land, with enemies on both sides, is rather difficult. It may be better to have them back in the Stormlands, ready to journey to King's Landing after we have taken back the North."

"Without new men from the Stormlands, and sending troops to the southern and western borders, our host will be significantly smaller," Ser Alester chimed in.

"We need to rally more houses, that is why we need to march north instead of sailing," Arya proposed.

"But the Lord of Light has shown Lady Melisandre that we must sail," Ser Axell Florent insisted.

"My own oracle gave me proof I must march through the Neck."

Melisandre stared at Arya and inquired, "Who is this oracle? Many charlatans swear they have the gift, but they speak only lies."

"My thoughts exactly," Arya replied to the priestess chagrin.

" _Uncle_ ," Gendry spoke, surprising everyone for how he chose to address the king, "you've had plenty of rallying support as lords do, with ravens and meetings in high castles. I am lowborn, and I know that we smallfolk are the ones that end up dying in wars for a lord's cause. I would have sooner joined an army if I saw the ones leading it on the roads, stopping in villages, and inns, and taverns. Let us march as Arya says, a lost Stark daughter walking along with a direwolf, and the bastard blacksmith that you made your heir. We'll rally you a greater army than those of your enemies."

"We don't have enough horses," Ser Alester added.

"Split the host. From what is left, after assigning men to tend to the borders, send five hundred by ships. We'll march with the rest, and we will increase our numbers on our journey."

"You make a compelling argument," the king commented. 

"My father used to say that you saw reason where your brothers did not. Prove him right."

The king leaned his chin on his fisted hand and thought for a moment, and ignoring the red priestess, he looked towards Arya, and he let his lips curve into a tense smile.

"You better be right, _girl_ ," he said with a small nod.

* * *

The following days were busy with preparations for the journey. Smaller armies were dispatched towards the south and the west, led by key men that had the loyalty of both the Tullys and Stannis. Resources were gathered and packed, and all the seamstresses in the Riverlands were tasked with producing clothes suitable for the North and the winter season that seemed nearer and nearer. A fortnight later, the preparations were almost completed.

One evening, Arya came into their rooms, holding a heap of clothes on her hands.

"What are those?"

"The clothes Queen Selyse had made for me," she said dumping the load on their bed, "since she indicated that _'I now represent House Baratheon, and it behooves me to make a good impression of such glorious family._ '" 

Gendry picked up a fitted black gown with motifs embroidered in gold thread.

"Does she know you don't like to wear dresses?" Gendry asked, digging through the clothes, finding different styles of tailored and corsetted gowns, with lacings on the back or on the sides.

Gendry's comment on her dislike of dresses surprised Arya since she felt a little sliver of something sticking on her side. 

"Who said I don't like dresses?"

Gendry shrugged, and he stuttered a bit before replying, "I assumed it, since you seldom wore them before, and then you hated that acorn dress."

He was scratching his head, suddenly feeling unsure.

"Except for your wedding gown, I've only seen you in breeches since we met again."

"To start, I never wore dresses before because I was trying to pass for a boy. And _that acorn dress_? It was just ugly. It made me look like a tree. And it's not like I don't like dresses, I wore dresses just fine in Braavos."

"I wouldn't know that. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's just… I don't like it when they're not practical, like this one. It's too tight. I would have to ride sideways."

"You could just slash them on the sides."

"Do you think the queen would mind?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't be happy about it, but you're the one who has to wear them and the one who will be riding and wielding a sword. I'm sure she has no problem with her own dresses riding in a wheelhouse or sailing on a ship. No, seriously. If you slash them on the sides, and you wear your leather breeches underneath, you would be able to ride and fight just fine. Maybe have them shortened a bit, so they don't trail behind you."

"That's not a bad idea. Roslin had a few new leather breeches and tunics made for me, and a thicker cloak, for when we get to the North."

"That's nice of her. She had some clothes made for me as well."

"I'll take these by the seamstress."

"I can continue packing our stuff while you do that."

When Arya returned, after dropping the gowns with Elspeth, she saw Gendry by their trunk, packing their belongings. He stood up as she came back inside, and went to the drawers in the wardrobe of their chambers, picking up a small satchel he found there. 

"What's in here?" Gendry asked, holding it up.

Arya stared at the small leather satchel and bit her lip, deciding what to respond. 

"My past."

He looked at her and wondered if he was ready to hear whatever it was that she had not decided to share on her own accord.

"I'll tell you, but you may not like what you hear."

"Since when does our friendship come with conditions?" Gendry asked, tilting his chin up.

"Fair enough."

Arya grabbed Gendry by the hand and walked them both to the bed. She sat down, pulling him to sit next to her. 

"In Braavos, I trained at the House of Black and White."

Gendry just stared at her, and his eyes suddenly opened a bit wider.

"Is that a… with the court-"

Arya realized what he had thought, and she quickly interrupted him, "It's not what you think it is."

"Not a brothel, then?"

"I was a handmaiden to a courtesan, that does not mean I was trained as one. If I had trained to please men at a brothel, I think you'd know by now."

Gendry nodded.

"What is it then?"

"You remember Jaqen H'ghar?"

"Yes," he replied, and the word came out harsher than he meant it to be.

"He was a faceless man. Or maybe he still is, I don't know. He gave me a coin and told me to give it to a Braavosi and say _'valar morghulis'_ to him to find him again. That coin helped me get to Braavos. There, I went to the House of Black and White, and I trained to become No One. If you succeed, you can wear different faces."

Arya looked up to see Gendry, and she was surprised that his eyes on hers were still the same, despite her account.

"You can look through the satchel if you want. You will find five faces, I stole from the House of Black and White, along with three vials from the poisoned pool."

"Walder Frey?"

"I learned about poisons there. If someone drinks from the water of the pools, they'll die a peaceful death. The _'gift,_ ' they call it. I also learned how to mix the water from the fountain with different roots and herbs, just in case the gift that must be dispensed demands for an excruciating one."

"Good," Gendry replied, putting the satchel back into the trunk.

"You won't look through it?"

Gendry shook his head, "I don't need proof to believe what you tell me."

* * *

The night before they were to depart, Arya and Gendry had supper with both her uncles, Roslin and Little Cat. A wave of melancholy surprised Arya, as she had not expected to feel it for people she had known for less than three moonturns. Watching Little Cat throw pieces of bread towards Gendry's face made her laugh and realize that this was the only blood family she had been close to in a very long time. She looked once more at Gendry, playing with her little cousin, and Roslin, trying to stop her daughter from flailing a spoonful of stew to the face of her good nephew. It was then that she realized that it was more than blood bonds. All those in the lord's solar, supping together, were members of her family, either by blood or by the laws of gods and men. 

Earlier that day, Queen Selyse, Shireen, and Ser Axell Florent had left with the rest of the queen's men and the five hundred soldiers that were to sail to White Harbor. Only Ser Alester had remained, as Stannis wanted him close where he could see him, still worried about a possible betrayal. Shireen had been effusive when she hugged them goodbye, and Arya had been moved, to see Gendry look less awkward embracing his cousin. 

They had decided to bid their farewells to the Tullys after supper, to make their departure easier, when they left early the next day.

"Stay safe," her uncle Edmure said when he embraced her.

The Blackfish, in contrast, had said, "Give them _hell_."

Roslin hadn't said anything, but after a hug, she placed on her hands the letter that she was to give to her sisters when they arrived at the Twins. And Little Cat had given her a bunch of wildflowers she had picked up that afternoon.

* * *

It was before dawn when they mounted their horses and prepared to depart her mother's home. They all wore their armor despite it being just the start of their journey, and too early still until they left the Riverlands to see battle. Arya had seen a glint in Gendry's eyes, as he helped her don the chain mail overlay, and the leather pieces, and then when he had cinched the steel armor plates, shaped and adorned by his own hands. It had been quite the contrast to his demeanor when it was his turn to wear his own.

"I'm used to being around it, helping make it or mend it, but I never it wore it before," he said, trying to explain himself.

"Your bull helm, you seldom wore it, you only polished it."

Gendry laughed at the memory as he continued putting his armor on, and Arya helped him fasten the leather straps and buckles. 

Their departure was quite anti-climatic. 

It turned out that readying six hundred men and horses took time. Arya could see Gendry on his horse, next to Stannis, who seemed to be saying something not to her husband's liking, for the sour look on his face. Lady Melisandre approached her atop her own horse, and stopped next to Arya, looking toward the Baratheon men. Both could be seen in profile, Stannis' horse, a bit ahead from Gendry's, making it easy to compare them. Stannis had lost most of the hair at the top of his head, but still, he wore his antler crown proudly. He had a bushy beard, with a few white hairs showing among the black. His skin was taut and leathery, with sharp angles that made his look grim. The king's eyes were sunken, and Arya thought the war had not been kind to him.

Gendry, on the other hand, had a full head of hair, a bit unruly, but in the same intense black that Stannis had clearly had in the past. He didn't have a full beard, but a dark stubble on his jaw showed that he was no longer a boy. Observing them on their horses, wearing their battle regalia and fine cloaks, almost made it possible to imagine them as a real family, as if they had lived in the same castle for all of Gendry's life. 

"What do you think of your husband wearing his armor, Lady Arya? It is almost as he was always meant to be a proud Baratheon lord," the red woman pointed out, interrupting her thoughts.

"What _I think_ is that my husband is a very skilled armorer."

The red priestess took a moment to study Arya, clad in her own pieces of armor, the breastplate from her wedding, emblazoned with the Stark direwolf and the Baratheon stag, and all the new shiny pieces. 

"He is, indeed, but there is more to your husband than his skill," she replied and turned back to look at Gendry. "There is _a great fire_ in him, and the Lord of Light favors those in which his flame burns bright."

Arya disliked the way her red eyes seemed to dance as she looked at Gendry, and how her pouty lips seemed to curl only on one corner. 

"Does the king's fire burn bright?" Arya asked, trying to determine the witch's intentions.

Melisandre looked down for a moment, and then looking back to Stannis, she said, "He is _Azor Ahai_ , the chosen one, and his heart burnt bright, but the burden he carries is heavy, and he has willingly given much of his flame for the cause."

"Is my husband meant to burn for the cause as well?" Arya asked bluntly.

The priestess smiled at Arya and replied, "What are _you_ willing to sacrifice for the North?"

Both women stared at each other for a few moments, and then Arya made her pale mare walk until she met with Gendry's black horse.

"What did your uncle tell you to make you scowl like this?"

"Nothing new, and you are one to talk. You looked like you wanted to bury your Fang in the red woman."

"I still do." 

"I've no doubt of that, but do you care to tell me what is the latest reason?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"She wants your _great fire_ to burn for the cause."

"What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

* * *

They finally left Riverrun as dawn was breaking. There had been some disagreement, days before, regarding what their first stop was meant to be. They were either to march towards Raventree Hall or follow the Red Fork towards Kneeling Man. The Blackwoods had been at the wedding, and they had already sent men for their cause. Arya and Gendry had their own reasons to favor heading towards Kneeling Man. In the end, the plan was to follow the Red Fork there and stay the night at the inn, and then head north to Fairmarket and follow the Blue Fork. If they were going to rally the smallfolk, then they had to put their efforts in the villages. After that, they were to stop at Seagard and then the Twins. 

At midday, they stopped to let the men have some food and water and rest for the horses. Arya couldn't wait any longer, and so, she announced to Stannis that she and Gendry would be riding ahead, and they'd be waiting for them at the inn. The king complained, but Arya explained that she was not asking for permission. They had left a friend there, and they both wanted to find out if he remained there still. She had also said that having them arrive on their own, with Nymeria running alongside, would help the stories spreading about the she-wolf. 

They rode the rest of the day, stopping only for a little bit to eat and relieve themselves, but by dusk, they were able to see the inn. They made quite an entrance, as it was evident by the enormous eyes of the stable boy that had taken their horses, and the bigger parts of their armor.

Nymeria had been told to wait outside as they entered the inn.

"Welcome to the Inn of the Kneeling Man," a tall woman greeted them. 

"We'll be staying the night and would like food and ale. This should be enough," Gendry said, leaving a few coins in front of her.

"Your boy already took our horses, but I will need water for my direwolf, and meat if you have it."

"Sure, if you promise your wolf won't eat any of us."

"She won't."

The woman instructed a servant girl to bring water and a piece of meat, and after she brought it, Arya took it out for Nymeria. Gendry watched her talk to the direwolf, and she wondered if she really could understand Arya's commands.

"Is your baker in?" Arya asked once she came back into the common room.

"We still have bread from this morning," the innkeeper assured her.

"Very well, but I didn't ask because I wanted fresh bread, but because we're in need of an old friend."

"You know my baker?"

"We do, if his name is Hot Pie," Gendry explained.

"The very same. I'll go fetch him."

The woman went into the kitchens, while Arya and Gendry sat at a table by the fireplace. A few moments later, their friend came into the common room, wiping his hands on his apron."

"Gendry? Arry?"

They both stood up and hugged him when he approached. He was still large, but he had seemed to manage to grow taller, and so, he didn't look quite as fat as he had when he was a boy. Hot Pie towered over Arya, but he was still shorter than Gendry.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as the three of them sat down.

Arya smiled and reminded him, "You forgot you asked us to visit you?"

"Aye, when the wars were over."

"Though the wars never ended, and we were on our way, we wanted to know if you were still here."

Hot Pie simply shrugged.

"Nowhere else to go. And you? Did you make it home?" he asked Arya.

"No, I was meant to go north, but found myself east instead."

"You went back to King's Landing?"

"No, I went to Essos."

Their friend seemed impressed by the news of her travels, and grinning wide, he said, "You'll have to tell me all about it."

Gendry laughed at that, and Arya knitted her eyebrows at his reaction.

"Did you go to Essos as well, Gendry?"

"No, Hot Pie. I've been in the Riverlands all this time," he replied, and moving his head towards Arya, he continued, "We've only reunited recently."

"You could have visited me then."

"I should have."

"Where are you two heading?"

"We're going North. To Winterfell."

"Heard the Boltons got it. Heard one of them married Arya."

"He married someone pretending to be me. We're going there to claim my home back."

"You're not married then? Since it was not you who married the Bolton son."

"I am," she replied, and looking sideways towards Gendry, who also looked at little restless, she continued, "the two of us married a moonturn and a half ago."

Hot Pie looked at both his friends, his bushy pale eyebrows shooting up into his forehead.

"Your family won't mind that you married a bastard from Flea Bottom then?"

"It's none of their business who I chose to marry," Arya replied. "And in any case, Gendry here is no longer a bastard."

"You're not?"

"No, he said, scrunching his nose. "I was legitimized."

"What is your name now?"

"Baratheon."

"Like King Tommen?"

"Gendry's father was King Robert Baratheon, _unlike_ king Tommen."

"I've heard some gossip," Hot Pie commented, nodding. "They say there is no stag in king Tommen, that he's a lion through and through. Now, I would have never imagined you were the son of a king."

"Don't get too excited, he made lots of bastards like me, I was only lucky enough to survive."

"We've allied with King Robert's brother, Stannis," Arya explained. "He recognized Gendry and made him his heir. We'll free the North, and back his claim."

"That's good," Hot Pie replied with a smile.

"That's it?" Gendry asked. "You have nothing else to say?"

"You always bickered like an old married couple. I can't say I'm too surprised."

They were both surprised that from all that they revealed to Hot Pie, their marriage was the most remarkable.

"We did not bicker like an old married couple, and Arry was just a _child_!"

"And still, that didn't stop you from arguing with me all the time and being _bullheaded_!"

"Just because you were always a _pain in my arse_!"

"And it's not like you were all grown up, just because you were always taller than all of us doesn't mean you were not a _child_ as well."

"It's not my fault you were tiny, and anyways, that's not the point right now!"

"What's the point right now?" Hot Pie asked, clearly dumbfounded.

"That I would have been gelded if I had played house with Arry back then," Gendry replied, and turning towards Arya, he continued. "I was saying that I looked like a man grown, and you looked like a little girl."

"I thought Arry looked like a _little boy_ , not a little girl."

"Shut up, Hot Pie!" they both replied in unison.

"Who said anything about _playing house_?" Arya asked, going back to Gendry's previous comment.

"Well, Hot Pie said that we were like a married couple."

"That's very different than what you were implying."

"Well, I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea, thinking that I was improper with you."

"Yes, it is quite obvious to me that you only saw me as your _annoying little sister_."

"Yes, _annoying_ is right, but not sister, don't worry, I know how much it bothered you that people thought I was your brother."

"You're an _idiot_."

"Yeah, I see it," Hot Pie said as he stood up. "You're really married. I'll go fetch your supper."

* * *

When Hot Pie left for the kitchens, Arya and Gendry looked at each other, both a bit flustered from their argument. It had been odd, being transported back to another time, arguing about something or another, and having Hot Pie there to witness it all, and to interrupt with something that seemed unrelated. They had just stared, blinking, without knowing what to say, until they both broke into laughter. 

"Do you think it's Hot Pie's doing? If he's with us, we'll just bicker about nothing?" Gendry asked when he calmed enough to speak.

"I think we're completely capable of that without him."

"But you felt it too, didn't you?"

"Like time hadn't passed at all? Yes, I did."

They just smiled at each other, and soon Hot Pie was back, placing plates of meat pies in front of them and signaling for a girl to serve them some ale. They asked Hot Pie to sit with them, and after a bit, he accepted and even called for a cup of ale for him as well. As they were eating, they started noticing the merry mood of the other patrons eating and drinking, and the music coming from a young man, playing the lute. 

"Sing the one about the wild she-wolf!" a husky man with a full reddish beard, and clearly into his cups yelled to the young singer, who nodded and soon started plucking at the strings producing a catchy melody.

"What's that?" Arya asked, intrigued by the name of the song, all the patrons seemed eager to listen.

"It's a ballad, a popular one."

"We can tell that, Hot Pie!" Gendry responded with exasperation. "What the _hell_ is it about?"

"Listen." 

_'A pack of wolves ravaged the realm,_

_led by a great direwolf._

_She killed and maimed the highborn lords,_

_as well as peasant folk.'_

There was something thrilling for Arya, hearing a folk song that she was sure was about sightings of Nymeria.

_'Until one day a girl thought lost_

_arrived and tamed the wolf._

_She climbed atop and ran along,_

_avenging all her ghosts.'_

Gendry found himself wary of what was to come; once he had no doubt, the ballad was about Arya.

_'First night she killed Lord Walder Frey,_

_and then his second son._

_She backed the burning stag king's claim_

_for taking Riverrun.'_

Arya allowed herself to imagine what it would have been like to have everything come to pass as the song described. Arriving mounted on Nymeria, and taking her revenge in such a fashion, but she knew better than anyone else that glorious revenge was just the same as a quiet one: it still left you wanting.

_'She feasted on a Lannister,_

_gave back the fish their home._

_Repaid the stag agreeing to wed_

_his lowborn heir turned lord.'_

Gendry's eyes opened wide when he realized he was part of the song. He could almost hear Arya's voice in his head calling him 'stupid,' as it seemed too obvious now.

_'Before a tree in Riverrun,_

_she wed the stag king's heir._

_And late at night under the moon_

_he took away her sword.'_

The crowd seemed to start getting rowdier at that point, clearly knowing the parts to come. They lifted their tankards and began to sing along.

_'The wild she-wolf, her stag she fucked,_

_in promise of her home._

_And those who heard their growls and moans_

_said mated until dawn.'_

Gendry's hand tightened around his own cup of ale. And Arya could see his jaw tensing. In contrast, Hot Pie looked down, suddenly too concerned with the foam in his ale, and his own cheeks bright as red apples. It was endearing to her that he blushed as if the bawdy song told his own intimacies, instead of Gendry's and hers. 

_'Beware dear rider on the roads_

_for she's still on the prowl._

_She'll bed her stag and roam the night,_

_still hungry for your soul._

_She'll take a bite right off your face,_

_and gorge her mouth with blood._

_She'll take her fill of beast and men,_

_'Til Winterfell is won.'_

The room erupted in cheers and laughter at the end, the young lute player pleased with the reaction. It was evident that the song had been played there more than a handful of times, and the young lad was making the tips he would normally collect in a moonturn, just that night alone. 

"That's not even accurate," Gendry was quick to comment once the song was over.

Arya turned to stare at him and scrunching her nose, she said, "Since when are tavern songs _accurate_?"

"I don't know, this is the first time one talks about _me_. And I gave you a sword, I didn't take it away."

"Would you rather it talked about your forging me a sword and cloaking me with armor?" Arya inquired, raising one eyebrow.

"I _rather_ tavern bards didn't talk about _our bedding_."

Hot Pie had remained quiet during the conversation, but when Gendry mentioned the salacious nature of the song, he intervened. 

"If they don't include something lewd, the audience doesn't seem to like the songs. Sharna made it a point to tell anyone that shows up with a woodharp or a lute not to bother unless there is some sort of _fucking_ in the song."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Gendry asked Arya.

"It would, but it so happens to be in our best interest that songs are made up about our alliance. If they want to say that I killed all Frey men and that I sent Genna Lannister in parts to King's Landing, then so be it. Just a girl riding her direwolf coming for revenge. Let them write the proper stories at the Citadel, no one will remember whatever their books say,"

She then signaled to the merry patrons with her head.

" _They_ will remember the songs."

"Should we start spreading lies then? Tall tales?"

"Hot Pie, tell stories to all the singers that show up. Don't use our proper names, just wild stories about the wolf and the stag. Will you do that for us? Nothing from before. Just how we're taking revenge on Lannisters and Freys, and fighting for the smallfolk. Tell them that Stannis raised his heir from humble birth, that he agreed to help the Riverlands rid themselves from oppression and pillaging. That we joined them because he was willing to put things to rights, and that we are heeding the call for help from the Night's Watch, and that we'll take the North back."

"Of course, Arry."

"The king should be arriving later tonight. Make sure they have the best featherbed ready for him."

"Will we have enough rooms?"

"You won't. But he'll be wanting the best bed. Speaking of which, I think I've had enough for today. I will be going to bed myself," Arya explained as she got on her feet, both her old companions staring at her.

"Sharna gave you the room at the far left. Up the stairs, just walk to the end."

"Are you coming?" Arya asked Gendry, who quickly stood up, and didn't miss the look his old friend gave him, as he patted his back.

* * *

By the time Gendry made it inside their room, and he barred the door, Arya was already busy taking off the remaining of her chain mail and the leather pieces, and she was soon sitting down to remove her boots. Gendry started doing the same, but for some reason, the task was turning difficult, as he was having trouble unbuckling one of the straps.

"Here, I'll do it," she called, coming closer to him.

Gendry let her work the buckles and just stood there in silence.

"You're still hung up on that song?" she asked as she was busy undoing a buckle on the back of his neck.

"Half of those things didn't happen, and the other half happened in a very different way." 

"Would you rather it told it as it really was?" she asked in return, as she handed him the leather gorget. 

Gendry took it from her hands and replied, "I don't want anyone singing about what happens on our bed."

Gendry's choice of _'happens'_ instead of _'happened'_ made something flutter in Arya's belly. He didn't seem to have noticed the effect his words had on her, and instead, he sat on the bed to remove his own boots. 

The trunk with their personal effects was strapped to a horse on the back of the convoy, and they'd only had the clothes they wore and the minimal resources that had been tied to their own horses. Arya was too tired to wait for the rest to arrive, as she started unlacing her breeches and taking them off. Her riding tunic was damp with sweat, after having to wear leather, chain mail, and steel on top. She wondered for a moment if Gendry would object to her sleeping only in her smallclothes, and decided that the best was to keep her tunic on, at least as they were already in bed and ready to go to sleep. 

"Do you trust that Hot Pie will do what you asked of him well?" Gendry asked, as he was already bare-chested, and using a wet rag to clean himself from the road before getting in bed.

"You don't?" she asked, coming next to him, and doing the same as he was doing, taking another rag.

Gendry put the piece of cloth down, and he seemed to ponder for a moment, "I trust Hot Pie with my life, I know he wouldn't betray us. Now, making up stories about us? Who knows what he'll come up with?"

Arya had finished her ablutions by then, and she was making her way to the straw bed. She knew that if they had announced themselves by their titles, they could have been given one of the few featherbeds the inn was wont to have, but she was happier it had not been the case. 

"The randomness of whatever he comes up with should help us," she said as she found her way under the covers.

Gendry was soon lifting the covers on the other side of the bed, and after shedding his breeches, he joined her. Once they were lying side by side, Arya started squirming.

"What are you doing?"

Arya then pulled her tunic over her head, and she threw it over the side.

"What does it look like?"

"No, keep your tunic on," he ordered, knitting his brows.

"Why? It's all sweaty and uncomfortable. And you're one to talk, you took yours off."

"It's not the same,"

"Why? Because I have teats? That's hardly fair."

 _'That's hardly fair, indeed,'_ Gendry thought to himself.

"At least keep your bindings on."

"They're too uncomfortable," she pointed out. "And too late, they're off."

Gendry saw her then pulling her hands out of the covers and throwing the strips of cloth to the same place where her tunic was.

He didn't say anything, but he must have made a face because Arya added, "They're under the covers, you won't have to look at them."

But Gendry was not worried about looking at them, he was more concerned about his hands finding his way to them in his sleep.

* * *

After Arya had turned away from Gendry, it hadn't been long until she had fallen into a deep slumber. Her muscles were sore for the long ride, and the ale with her supper had made it easy for her mind to wander. At first, her dream had been so vivid, that she thought it was Nymeria's eyes she was looking out of. She was walking stealthy towards the building, smoke coming out of a chimney. Her sluggish mind could tell she was approaching the inn's smithy, and she wondered why Gendry had made his way to a forge that was not his. She had stopped dead in her tracks at the entrance, startled by the deep stain of red. She had seen a similar scene before. This time, the woman was leaning on the man there, broad-shouldered and bearded, with a golden antler crown on his head. The man turned slightly to his side, and Arya recognized the sinewy face of the king, but his sunken eyes were empty, only burnt coal in their place.

The red woman continued hissing in his ear, but making sure to look in Arya's way and instead of the usual red of her foreign eyes, there were two dancing flames. The king turned where he stood until Arya could clearly see his face, and black veins started to spread on his skin, turning him grey, until he was a statue, and it crumbled into ash. Arya wanted to pounce on the woman, but she seemed to be stuck to the ground. The witch just smiled. Once the wind had taken away the dust of the king, Arya could see Gendry hard at his task, pounding at the steel on the anvil. His head was bowed down, entranced with his work. Arya wanted to yell, to get him to look her way, but she could only howl. 

Gendry did not hear her, though.

The woman stalked towards him, her silks making a rattling sound as they dragged over the dirty floor of the forge, and they trailed shards of steel. Melisandre pushed her body against his side, and she leaned in to whisper on his ear, just as he had to the king. Arya howled once more, and this time Gendry seemed to hear her, because he stopped his chore, and the hammer fell noisily to the ground. He lifted his head, and the eyes that used to be like the ocean were then cold blue flames. The witch grew jealous, and she turned his face towards her and kissed him on the mouth, a thread made of fire, transferred from his lips to hers. 

The voice of the Ghost of High Heart murmured in her own ear then, _'Beware, wolf child, of the leech that hisses into the stag's ear. She longs to feast on the blood that is meant only for your belly.'_

When the kiss ended, Gendry's lips were bloody, and his skin started to turn ashen.

Arya howled for the third time, this time, only for her.

* * *

Arya woke up startled, with Gendry's hand softly shaking her shoulder.

"Arry, Arry, it's just a bad dream."

He sounded half-asleep himself.

"Just a dream," Arya repeated as if chanting.

She must have been shaking because Gendry hooked his arm around her middle, and he pulled her towards him until her back was against his chest, and his warmth permeated from his skin to hers. 

"What was it?" he asked softly by her ear.

Arya could only shake her head, worried that putting the feelings into words would conjure them. 

"Whatever it was, it wasn't real, Arry. Try to go back to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow," he reiterated as he shushed her.

Arya's eyes shot open at the mention of her old name.

"You always call me Arry when you're half asleep."

Her words startled him, and his mind seemed to be wide awake all of a sudden. 

"Do I?" he asked, and he took a moment before he added, "I hadn't noticed."

Gendry didn't say anything for a long while, and Arya feared he had gone to sleep, the mention of the name of the dirty boy she used to be not as relevant to him as it was for her. 

"Mayhaps," he said, his words spoken against her hair, "it feels like before, when we slept together, on the road, or later, in an inn's room, when there were not enough to go around, and we had to share."

"Like now."

His fingers dared to dance on the soft skin above her belly button, but he made sure to not move them higher, where he knew her naked chest was. It was the wrong thing to do; he knew it well, but it was late, and she had been making those awful painful noises as she slept restlessly. Gendry had pulled her tight against him, and something was soothing in the feeling of her nude back against his chest. He had not expected the question regarding the name _'Arry,'_ but it had taken him back to times that had been far worse and far better at the same time. 

There had been something else though, when she agreed with him, that mayhaps when they slept together, as they did that night, it felt like all those times before. And then she had added that it was like that moment, and something had prompted him to caress her softly.

What had emboldened him so? 

It had to have been something rebellious, provoking him to do something that made it clear that despite the similarities, there was something between them far different than their old friendship. Gendry's fingers on her skin were trying to prove to her, or mayhaps to himself that their former selves were long gone.

Arya did not understand what his fingers were trying to say.

Instead, their dance lulled her into a trance, but they did nothing to dispel the fear that for Gendry, she'd always be that dirty little girl pretending to be a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been salivating about the chapter that comes next, so I am thrilled that it's almost here. 
> 
> Thank you once more, and let me know what you thought of finding Hot Pie again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey north has started, and along the way the convoy adds to their numbers, including a young lute player. On their journey, Arya and Gendry will learn more about the king and his priestess, and even more of themselves. In one of their stops, they will run into old companions, and their prisoners. One of them, will test loyalties, and threaten the pact between Arya and King Stannis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for the silent readers.
> 
> I was a silent reader in the past, and I've always liked reading author's notes. I always felt like I knew the authors, even if we never interacted.
> 
> And so, I want you, silent reader, to know that I think of you, and that seeing kudos, bookmarks, or just hits going up does encourage me to continue reading. 
> 
> Thank you, to you as well, for investing your time in this story.

[ ](https://imgur.com/tzAnUqO)

Saying goodbye to Hot Pie had been just as hard as the time before. A bit harder even, with the king, grinding his teeth in the background. Many things bothered Stannis, not just the bit of sentimentality of his nephew and good niece, and the heavy burden that he had been carrying for years. No, the morning they left Kneeling Man, he hadn’t been pleased to hear that the young lute player from the inn decided to join their group, to _‘sing their praises as they raked up victories,’_ the man had said. Arya, being the practical one, had commented that having him wherever they went, aggrandizing their successes, would be a great recruitment strategy. 

And so, they left their friend, spreading stories, and took with them young Aymar, who had already composed songs other than _The Wild She-wolf_ that had the men humming along _._ Songs like _The Blacksmith Lord_ , _The Stag that Tamed the Wolf_ , and _The Fiery Heart_. He even had one that celebrated the feats of Ser Davos, with the jolly title: _Oh, how tasty an onion can be._

They didn’t stop at another inn after the Kneeling Man, choosing to camp along the way instead, making sure to heighten security with carefully planned watch shifts, to avoid a possible ambush.

After Fairmarket and Wendish Town, they had already managed to add a couple hundred to their numbers, and despite most of the new men being either green or grey, increasing their host was bettering their odds.

Arya and Gendry shared a small tent, a bit larger than the rest of the men, but humble in comparison to the king’s. It was certainly more than they had ever had when they traveled together all that long before. Still, their sleeping mat was far narrower than the bed they had shared at Riverrun or the straw mattress at Kneeling Man. The first night had been the most awkward, as Gendry tried to avoid any physical contact between them, just as they had done every night except for their wedding’s, but it meant that he kept rolling off the mat, and he ended up with barely a corner of their furs to cover his body.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked when he tried to get back onto the mat for the umpteenth time and grunting in frustration.

Gendry huffed loudly, and after a moment, he said, “Just trying to not make it awkward.”

“It’s _already_ awkward. Why is this suddenly a problem? It didn’t happen at Riverrun or at the inn.”

“Because those beds were wider, and this is too narrow!”

“We slept together in narrower spaces when we were children.”

“It was different then! We were _children_!”

Arya stared at him with one raised eyebrow.

Gendry lay back down, and he closed his eyes.

“It’s just different, alright?”

“Why?”

He didn’t see her, but he heard her voice close to his ear.

“Because I’ve f-,” Gendry stopped himself mid-sentence and scrunched up his face.

“Because you’ve _fucked_ me?”

Gendry sat up suddenly at her words and added, “Because I’ve _bedded_ you, alright?”

Arya sat up and twisted, so she was sitting on her heels.

“We’ve been wedded and bedded already, why is this difficult?”

“Because we’re friends that somehow ended up in this situation?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have forced you into this,” Arya said, looking down, suddenly wondering if they had to have separate sleeping arrangements. 

Gendry laughed loudly, puzzling, and enraging her all the same.

“What’s that for?”

“How did _you_ force _me_ into marriage?”

“We’re doing this to get the North back. Why would it matter to you?”

Arya saw him shake his head slowly, and after a moment, he turned towards her.

“Maybe it’s because I’m tired. Tired of the mighty crushing the little people. I’m mad about the way we were hunted, and I’m mad that we lost Weasel, and that they killed Lommy and Yoren. I’m mad about what happened at Harrenhal. That we just had to leave Hot Pie behind, again. I’m mad that I was a good armorer’s apprentice and I was sold to the Night’s Watch, and then, when I made peace with the fact that I would have to take the black and saw the silver lining of having brothers for life, that got fucked as well. I’m mad that I chose the brotherhood and I lost the only friend… the only family I ever had. I want the North back, even if I have never been there before, because it matters to me, alright?!”

“Alright!” Arya agreed, a bit louder than she had intended. 

They both stayed silent for a while longer until Arya spoke again.

“We’re friends, right? Above all else, we’re friends?”

“Yes.”

“Then just get in this mat and pretend we’re just traveling together north, like before everything went to shit. Or you can pretend that you are simply comforting me from a bad dream. Can you do that?”

“Aye.”

Arya moved about trying to find the right position so they’d fit better.

“Could you please stop moving?!” Gendry said with one hand on her hip, keeping her still.

“Why?”

 _‘Because it feels too good,’_ he wanted to say, but instead, he replied, “Because I want to sleep, and you are not letting me.” 

After that first night it became easier, whenever one of them was ready to climb under the furs, they would hold it open for the other, and they would find their place against each other, feeling safe and warm.

Just a few nights later, it surprised Gendry how quickly he had gotten used to it, and how he couldn’t sleep without the scent of her hair in his nose. It had a woodsy smell to it, something wild and just Arya. When they molded their bodies together, and Gendry embraced her from behind, his face would look for her loose hair, inhaling deeply. Other times, it was Arya, the one who wrapped herself around his back, and Gendry would fall asleep with a smile on his lips, at the way she anchored herself to him, not only with an arm but with her leg as well. Every morning, no matter how they went to sleep, they’d always wake up with their legs tangled together, but then there was no time for awkwardness because Gendry would quickly set himself free, and leave the tent to relieve himself. 

They never talk about it in the morning, how despite being on the road and how having only a thin sleeping mat to separate them from the cold hard ground and no longer a featherbed like the one in Riverrun, they were having the best sleep of their lives. But even if they did not speak of it, some of that comfort seeped into their days. An easiness with which their hands felt right touching each other, the way they pulled the other by the arm, how Arya would wipe dirt off Gendry’s jaw, or how he would find himself playing with her braid from time to time. 

* * *

One night, as they headed north, and the temperature started to lower, Arya found herself on her side, tucked against Gendry’s body, craving his warmth. The forest sounds, with its nightly beasts, and the stream of the Blue Fork were lulling her to sleep, along with Gendry’s breathing. She was almost sure he’d be snoring softly soon, in a rhythm that had come to be familiar. 

Something interrupted her slumber, a sound that was not beast nor stream, but soft moaning outside of their tent. At first, she had thought it to be one of the soldiers keeping guard, mayhaps feeling suddenly ill from sneaking in too much ale during his watch. But the moaning grew, and there was no question anymore that the loud sighs and pants were coming from two distinct voices, one male and one most definitely female.

There was also no question that the sounds were ones of pleasure. 

“Is that…?” Gendry asked close to her ear.

“ _Fucking_? Yes, pretty sure.”

Gendry chuckled against her ear, with a voice still tainted with sleep that made Arya smile and commented, “I guess one of the men was lucky enough to pick up a girl at the last town. Maybe Aymar charmed one with one of his ballads.”

At that moment, the male voice groaned loudly, joining the woman’s voice. And to their horror, they both found the tone quite familiar. Arya scrunched up her face, realizing that the king’s exasperated tone was very similar to one of pleasure. Arya was sure she never wanted to know that.

“Is that… Stannis?” Gendry ventured.

Arya turned then to face her husband. 

“Yes.”

They both stared at each other, while the voices grew in volume. 

“Who would have thought?” Arya offered. “Given his general bleakness, I never imagined him enjoying anything in life. He certainly doesn’t hold a lot of love for the queen.”

“I’m sure they haven’t fucked since they made Shireen.”

“Someone should tell Selyse that no matter how many fires she lights for R’hllor, her Lord of Light won’t bless her with a male heir if a man doesn’t plant it in her womb.”

They both laughed at Arya’s comment, but another wave of lewd sounds sobered them up.

“Do you think he had a woman brought from a nearby brothel?” Gendry asked.

As if on cue, the woman was particularly vocal enough that Arya was able to recognize her.

“That’s no common woman,” she said, making a face. “That’s the red witch.”

Gendry looked surprised for a moment, and then, listening to the sounds a bit more, he scowled when he recognized her.

“For how proud he is of himself, and how much he likes to tell me about how horrible my… _Robert_ was, he is no better.”

“He’s a man,” Arya added, “and worse, one that calls himself king.”

Her words were not lost on Gendry, and he felt his belly sour at a comment that was not directed at him, but it bothered him, nonetheless.

“I’d _never_ do that.”

“Do what?”

“Dishonor you like that.”

Arya hesitated for a moment, unsure of what he was saying.

Her silence prompted Gendry to elaborate, “I made promises to you, and to your gods. I may not believe in them, but my promises were true.”

Arya felt as if something had stolen her breath. They remained like that for a while, in silence, listening to the ever-increasing sounds of fucking, getting more and more uncomfortable, and so close that they could feel the warmth of each other’s breaths on their lips. 

The red woman stopped panting, and instead, she was screaming in pleasure. 

“She’s faking,” Arya said, trying to distract them both from what the sounds and their closeness.

“How do you know?”

“In Essos, I was a handmaiden to a courtesan. The Black Pearl of Braavos. She told me all about it.”

Gendry had found that he both craved and dreaded every time Arya mentioned something about her life in Braavos, but he continued listening, enchanted by her tales.

“And I had a chance to hear plenty on my own, while my mistress entertained. She’s faking to make him feel good, to convince him he is a better lover than he really is.”

Gendry remained silent for a long while, and Arya feared that she had disturbed him with her tale. And so, she doubled down, trying to get a rise out of him, “What? Are you thinking back to all your women to figure out who faked or not?”

Arya’s words caught him off guard, but once he took a breath, he spoke, “No, I know for a _fact_ that no woman has faked it with me.”

“Are you _that_ confident?” She asked, and her eyes sparkled with her teasing. 

“No, I know it for sure because the sounds of the only woman I’ve ever had were made out of pain and not pleasure.”

It took Arya a moment to understand what Gendry was telling her.

“Only me?”

“Aye.”

“Why?” she asked, knitting her eyebrows.

“Why was _I_ your first?”

“Never found someone I wanted to try that with,” she answered with a shrug, and Gendry could see she was defensive.

“Well, it was the same with me. Though, I also didn’t want to chance making any more bastards.”

They stayed silent a bit more, and unfortunately for them, it made them pay attention again to the lewd sounds that continued in a crescendo that culminated in an over-the-top scream.

“I didn’t know I was your first,” Arya whispered, while she looked directly into his eyes. 

Gendry closed his eyes for a moment, and then added, “I wasn’t completely green. I did my share of kissing girls and touching under skirts, but nothing else.”

Arya simply nodded, but she didn’t say anything else.

“Turn around,” Gendry said after a while, “let’s try to sleep before they start anew.”

* * *

Somewhere between Sevenstreams and Seagard, they stopped to let the horses drink, and the men stretch their legs. Stannis had already dismounted, with Davos right next to him, taking the reins of his horse, and directing one of the young squires to take it with the rest, as he noticed Gendry ahead of him.

“What is he doing?” The king asked, looking to where his nephew was extending a hand to the Stark girl still atop her horse. 

Stannis had seen Gendry riding, and he was able to see that he was not a skilled rider. His inferior upbringing was evident not only in his lack of finesse maneuvering his horse, but in his brash demeanor, and poor communication abilities. His wife, in contrast, despite whatever she did for years in between her father’s execution and the moment he found her at the inn, was an expert rider. Still, the silly boy was extending his hand to help her dismount as if she had any need for it.

The girl smiled, and instead of swatting his hand away as she was wont to do if anyone else even implied she couldn’t do something on her own, she took it and let him hold on to her waist. His nephew helped his wife down until she was on firm ground, and their bodies pressed together. 

Stannis saw her then, blushing slightly, and turning away, with his nephew walking along, his hand remaining on her lower back as they walked.

“I believe your nephew is _courting_ his wife, your grace.”

The king turned to see Ser Davos smiling smugly. 

“Whatever for? Their marriage is already consummated,” the king said, narrowing his eyes.

“Young Aymar,” Davos started to explain, and noticing that Stannis had no notion of who that was, he specified, “ _the singer._ I believe he would call that _love._ ” 

Ser Davos then bowed to his king and added, “With your leave, your grace.”

Stannis ground his teeth as he saw his hand give orders to his troops, as the young couple walked away, towards a meadow, oblivious of the king’s disapproval.

* * *

Arya and Gendry walked away from the men, exploring the area until they found a small flowering meadow. Gendry watched his wife silently, walking through the tall grass, her arms extended and fingers splayed, brushing the lush vegetation. He liked her like that, carefree, allowed to be just a girl, and make-believe that there had not been any sorrow in her life. 

After a while, Gendry found a place by a large boulder in the shade, and he sat down against it, watching Arya picking up bunches of wildflowers in white, pink, and a bluish purple. Once she deemed she had enough, she came to sit next to him. Without saying anything, Arya's fingers deftly weaved the stems of the flowers, as she methodically picked them up, one by one, from the heap scattered at her lap.

“I used to do this when I was little,” Arya explained, but her eyes did not turn to him as she spoke, “picking up flowers from the glass gardens at Winterfell. It used to drive Sansa mad. She would say the flowers were not for making crowns, or to give to my father, that it was a waste of their beauty.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Gendry observing her task, and nodding slightly, but he did not say a thing. She had never understood why it bothered Sansa so. Why flowers had to exist just to be beautiful and admired from afar, and why beautiful things could not have a functional duty as well. A flower crown could sit at the top of your head, like the one over Little Cat’s auburn curls, as she twirled around the godswood at Riverrun. Just as bunches of flowers could make her father smile, whenever Arya brought them to him. 

There was so much beauty in utilitarian things, Arya thought, letting out a long sigh, beauty in swords, and shields, but more than that, there was beauty in the large copper pots in the kitchen, and in a saddle atop a horse.

Gendry’s fingers set on top of hers with the guise of studying the flower crown.

“It’s like the one Little Cat set on my head.”

Arya smiled at the memory and added, “I had almost forgotten about flower crowns until she asked me to help her make one.”

Gendry reached towards the flowers in her lap and picked up one. Arya was curious to see what he was going to do, but then, without saying a word, he placed the purplish flower over her ear. Arya reached to touch it, but Gendry was quicker and held on to her wrist.

“Leave it,” he asked, pulling her hand down and taking a few moments before letting go of it, he added, “you look beautiful.”

“Don’t jest,” she pleaded, looking down.

“I mean it,” he vowed. “And I meant it before.”

Arya looked up then, confusion painted on her face.

“The night of our bedding.”

Gendry didn’t have to elaborate. She was well aware of the moment he had said those same words before.

“Did you?”

“Aye. And you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gendry was able to see how the pale skin of her cheeks tinted, just as a drop of blood falling into a bucket of fresh milk. His hand itched to go back to the side of her face, with the excuse of securing that wildflower above her ear, and then set it where her neck joined with her jaw. It would be so easy to guide it towards him until her rosy lips were close enough to brush them with his own. Gendry wondered if she’d finally accept all the sweet nothings that he wanted to whisper in her ear, the same ones that he longed to say the night of their wedding, and that he was not brave enough to say then. He wondered about all of that while they stared at each other, no longer looking into each other’s eyes, but mesmerized by their lips. Only the gods of the forest could know what would have happened if it wasn’t for the commotion that pulled their attention back to where they came from, and where their group was still.

They looked into each others’ eyes for a moment, but there was nothing soft there anymore, and instead, a silent agreement made them stand up and walk towards the source of the yelling, leaving behind the forgotten crown of wildflowers over a rock. 

As they approached, to where all the men seemed to have congregated, Arya saw Ser Davos looking her way, and she suddenly remembered the private moment with Gendry. She quickly brushed the small wildflower off her ear, but as she walked by the Onion Knight, she could have sworn he had smiled. 

Walking in between the crowd of men, Arya could see that there were several newcomers, standing in front of Ser Andrew Estermont, Ser Gerald Gower, and some of the other king’s men. The new men were looking away from her, and she could only see their backs. Walking around, careful not to show herself yet, she started recognizing some of the faces: a one-eyed man, another one in a ratty yellow cloak, a stocky Northern face and a fat one, in a tattered red robe. The realization made her look back towards Gendry, but he had stopped to talk with Davos, and from where he was, he couldn’t see the faces of his old brothers.

When she turned back to the brotherhood, she noticed that they held two prisoners, a tall blond woman wearing armor, and a young skinny boy. She had caught just half of what they had been telling the king's men about looking for Lannisters, but right then, the king and his priestess made their way to the front, and Arya was able to see the moment the tall woman recognized Stannis. Arya knew the face the warrior woman made all too well. Until that moment, she had been calm, as two hands held her, even when her captors were shorter than her. The warrior woman broke her right arm loose, and before anyone realized it, she unsheathed the sword that hung at the hip of the man on her left. With a yell, she attempted to charge against Stannis, despite the fact he was surrounded by his knights. The confusion lasted just a few moments, as she was seized, and forcibly made to kneel, and the sword taken from her hands.

“How dare you?!” the red priestess said as she approached her. “Don’t you know who stands before you?”

“Stannis Baratheon,” she answered as if spitting venom. “Lord of Dragonstone.”

 _“King_ Stannis Baratheon, rightful heir to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms,” Melisandre corrected her. “And still you unsheathed your sword. Who are you?”

“I am Brienne of Tarth, and I swore an oath to King Renly Baratheon,” Brienne responded, and looking defiantly towards Stannis, she yelled, “you killed _my_ king!”

“I did not kill my own brother!” The king yelled back, surprising Arya with the unusual display of emotion.

“You did it! You did!” she wailed. 

“Who are you?” The king asked the men, holding the two prisoners.

“We’re the brotherhood without banners, we used to be King Robert’s men, fighting injustice in the Riverlands.”

“King Robert was my brother, and he is dead. I am the lawful king of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You killed Renly! You killed your own brother! I saw you! Lady Catelyn, she saw you as well!”

“Quiet!” Stannis ordered the kneeling woman.

Arya stepped up at the mention of her mother. 

“What about my mother? What of Lady Catelyn?!”

“Arya!” Harwin yelled, recognizing her, and kneeling.

“Arya Stark?” Brienne asked, suddenly stopping her frantic jerking, trying to get herself free.

“Arya _Baratheon_ ,” the red woman was quick to clarify. 

Brienne turned to look at the king and his priestess, and she felt a cold wave of horror.

“You married her?” she asked with disbelief.

“ _He_ is not the Baratheon I married,” Arya was quick to correct her, realizing what Brienne had thought.

Arya noticed then that Gendry had made his way to them, and so she announced, “this is my husband.”

Brienne turned to see the man, and what she found was a ghost she had not expected to see.

“Renly… My king,” she replied, bowing her head.

“My name’s not Renly.”

“Fuck me! If it ain’t Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill!” Lem Lemoncloak announced with a yell.

The moment the man spoke, the mirage dissolved for Brienne. While very similar, he was taller and broader than Renly had been. His face was less soft, but with the same structure, and his eyes more blue than green, but with the same intensity. And to top it all, the same deep black hair.

“This is my nephew, Gendry, a bastard son of my brother Robert. I’ve legitimized him, and he is now my heir.”

“All this time, we had King Robert’s son with us?” Thoros asked, staring at Gendry, with a face that Arya had never seen any of them throw his way.

“And you two found each other again?” Jack-Be-Lucky asked.

“They’ve been married, as it was the will of the Lord of Light. For the night is dark and-”

“ _And full of terrors_ ,” Thoros interrupted her.

“You’re a red priest.”

“I am, my lady,” Thoros said, bowing to Melisandre. 

“Why do you hold them?”Arya inquired.

“They’re Lannister men.”

“Are you certain of this?”

“Look at the sword she had with her,” Beardless Dick suggested.

“I am not, my lady. I swore my loyalty only to your mother, Lady Catelyn. And this here is Pod, he is just a boy that followed me. You can let him go.”

“I’m her squire,” Pod was quick to reply, foiling any hope Brienne had of Podrick being set free.

“My mother is dead,” Arya pointed out.

“Your mother lived again,” Harwin said.

“My mother is dead, and that _thing_ you made has finally rested.

“It was you?” Lem inquired.

“She was not my mother anymore. Was it you, Thoros?” Arya thought for a moment, years before, when she asked Thoros of Myr if a man who had lost his head could be brought back, just the once. How much sorrow that thought had brought her when she had been face-to-face with Lady Stoneheart. 

“Beric asked me to bring her back. I couldn’t. It had been too long.”

“How did she rise again, then?”

“Beric. He gave her the kiss, and died for the very last time.”

“My lady,” Brienne interrupted then, “I was sworn to your mother, I was meant to find you. It is _you_ I am loyal to.”

“And yet you wield a Lannister sword?” Arya asked, signaling for Harwin to give it to her. 

Harwin threw it at her, and she caught it easily. She looked at the ripple pattern on the blade, and the golden grip and pommel, with the proud lion’s head.

“Who gave you this sword?”

“Jaime Lannister did, my lady.”

“And yet you say that you are not a Lannister woman?”

“She also carries papers signed by King Tommen,” Harwin pointed out.

“Take them away,” Stannis ordered. “They’ll be our prisoners. Have the men build them a cage, and set guards around them.”

Ser Gerald Gower and Ser Rolland Storm took the prisoners away, while the rest turned to look at the brotherhood.

“What about these men?” Ser Andrew Estermont spoke then.

“Will you join my men and fight for my claim?” the king asked.

“We fight only for the smallfolk,” Lem replied.

Gendry spoke then, “You fought for Lady Stonehart’s revenge. Or did you forget you stopped holding trials? Hanging people just because they were suspect of following the Freys or the Lannisters.”

“You know what they did at the Twins,” Harwin reminded him.

“Aye, I do. And I wanted them dead as much as you, but what happened later, that was no justice anymore. That’s why I left.”

“Who do you follow now?” Arya asked.

“Your mother was the only one we followed. And then she was gone. We’ll follow you, you’re her daughter, and you’re still one of us.”

“I was never one of you. You were going to ransom me, sell me for coin.”

“Justice is pricey, we needed funds to continue,” Thoros replied with honesty. “We were going to take you to your mother and brother.”

“You took your time.”

“You would have died if we did,” Lem added.

“And in the end, the Hound took me because you let him live. I gave my mother the gift. Will you try to kill me or follow me for that?”

There was no hesitance, as the brotherhood fell on their knees, one after the other, in front of Arya. The display of fealty was another thorn in the king’s side. Stannis did not say anything then, but he did not forget it either, and he turned away and left, followed by Melisandre. As he walked by Davos, he instructed them that they were to change their plans, and set camp where they were. 

* * *

While the tents were erected and one of their wagons converted into a place to keep prisoners, men were sent to hunt for something to feed the troops. Once the royal tent was up, the king, his men, and Melisandre kept to it, and so, Arya and Gendry had time to spend with their old companions. 

Several spits had been erected, and rabbits and game were being cooked to feed the men. Arya, Gendry, and the brotherhood were sitting around one, sharing meat and a bit of wine from a skin. Gendry seemed a bit angrier than his usual self, sitting next to Arya, and focused on the rabbit leg that he was chewing, but from time to time, Arya could notice him, throwing bitter looks at the men he had traded her for. There was some muttering among the brothers, as they ate and drank until a loud belch from Lem Lemoncloak got everyone’s attention. 

“Well, fuck _me_. I was wrong.”

“What about?” Arya asked, raising her eyebrow, but Lem was not looking at her but at Gendry.

Gendry pulled the leg from his mouth, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and raised his chin, realizing Lem was talking to him for the way he was staring. 

“Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. 

“What?!” Gendry asked with exasperation. 

“I told you once you wouldn’t be stealing no kisses from a princess,” Lem said, looking at Arya as he spoke.

“But fuck _me_ , I was wrong, and you’ve been doing more than kissing!”

The rest of the men broke into laughter. 

Arya kicked herself internally for the slight heat she felt on her cheeks, but then, she turned towards Gendry, and she saw the way his face was tensing. She then placed her hand on his knee, trying to keeping him still.

Thoros cleared his throat, and smiling with his nose red from the wine, he spoke next, “Gendry has no need to steal anything, Lem. You forget they have been wedded and bedded,” which brought another round of laughter.

“Quit your jesting,” Harwin intervened. “Do I need to remind you lot that the lad is heir to a king, and married to a princess, no less.”

“But he was a knight, and one of us,” Mudge was quick to point out.

“Aye, I was, but not like you. You made sure of that. You had me mending your swords, and running your errands, but you left me behind. You seldom trusted me to come along.”

“You were not ready for that,” Harwin said.

“For what? To hunt the Brave Companions? To fight for justice?”

“We brought you in,” Thoros added.

“Only when the lady needed more executioners, but never before,” Gendry said, standing up and leaving. 

“We did not mean it like that,” Harwin said to Arya. “I don’t know why he took it so hard.”

“Because he chose _you_ ,” Arya replied, but kept to herself _‘over me.’_

“He thought you’d be his brothers, but he was wrong.”

Arya left then in the direction that Gendry had gone. 

* * *

A bit later, since Gendry had gotten to their tent, Arya joined him there. He was on the sleeping mat, arms crossed over his chest, and looking up at the dirty canvas.

“Are you going to sulk there for the rest of the day?”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You could have fooled me.”

Gendry sat up then, looking at her, walking to their mat, and sitting next to him.

“They shouldn’t have been jesting like that about you and me.”

“I don’t mind about that.”

“You don’t?”

Gendry shrugged. 

“We’re married, and they knew us when we were young. It’s only natural.”

“What had you all worked up, then?”

“I thought I’d really be one of them. I thought I’d be a knight, and I’d go with them, protecting the smallfolk, but they left me in an inn caring for orphans, only came to fetch me when they needed their swords polished.”

“Would you rather you had done something differently?”

“Aye. I should have left with you, but you already know that.”

“There is no point wondering about what-ifs. And besides, you can say that you were knighted by Ser Beric, and on your own merit.”

“I’ve never been remarkable with a sword.”

“You _are_ remarkable, sword, or not.”

They stared at each other, and Gendry felt it again, a push to take her face in his hands and bring her lips to his. He thought about it, what it would be like, and if her lips would taste just like the night of their bedding. He wondered if he would be able to make her lips part when he ran his tongue over her puffy lower lip and if she’d made the same muffled sounds. His heart thundered then, galloping at the idea, of kissing her until her hair escaped her messy braid, and he’d pushed her back onto their sleeping mat, and then he could see her, under him, her flushed chest going up and down, breathing hard, and her cheeks turning rosy out of desire. 

He was almost bold enough, and his hand made it all the way to her arm when one of the king’s men called from outside their tent, and Arya stood up and went outside. Gendry buried his head in between his bent knees, and it took him five hard breaths to calm his feverish thoughts. 

“I need you,” she called from the entrance of their tent, but raising his head from where it was, he could see that sadly, it was not the need he wanted to fill. 

Gendry shook his head and stood up, walking to where she was. 

“What is it?”

“Before coming here, I asked for her sword to be brought to me. Look at this,” Arya said, placing the sword on his hand.

Gendry recognized the sword as the one the brotherhood said the blond woman, Brienne, had wielded. He studied it carefully, letting his fingers run over the blade, turning it to see both sides, and then, upside down, to study the guard and the carved pommel, with the golden lion’s head. 

“ _Valyrian steel_ ,” he said, as he held on to the grip and swung it around a couple of times, “the real kind.”

“Is there anything else you can tell?”

“The blade has been reforged, the pommel and the guard are new, as well as the grip. It’s Tobho Mott’s work.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye, it has his markings. The old man was always proud of his work, and he couldn’t stop himself from marking his work. Never somewhere that the lord that commanded it would see, but if you know where to look, you can tell.”

“I thought Valyrian steel could not be made again.”

“No, not new Valyrian steel. The only thing that can be done is reforge it. It is said that only Qohorik smiths know the secrets. Tobho was one of them. In any case, you need to have the Valyrian steel to start with, but there are very few pieces left, and even fewer people who would want to part from such a weapon.”

“Unless it is stolen,” Arya’s words made him stop and look into her sad grey eyes. 

“You think…”

“Ice. My father’s sword. It was never given back, and the Lannisters had always wanted a Valyrian steel sword of their own. "

Arya took a moment, and then she continued, “I need to ask a favor.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Grab your hammer,” she instructed him and turned to leave the tent.

“Arya,” he said, stopping her by the arm. “I don’t know how to reforge Valyrian steel, Tobho never taught me.”

“I don’t want you to reforge it, but there is something I need you to do with it."

* * *

After leaving Gendry to the task she had asked of him, she walked with Nymeria to where they had the prisoners chained, by a large tree, guarded by two knights.

“Leave,” Arya ordered them.

“My lady, we can’t. The king tasked us with guarding the prisoners.

“And I am telling you to leave. Unless you rather I tell my direwolf that you are her supper.”

The two men looked at each other hesitatingly.

“I need a word with her. You can keep guard from a few yards away.”

The knights bowed, and they did as she said, and once they were out of hearing distance, the prisoner spoke.

“Your husband. Is he a good man?”

Arya turned back towards Brienne, and staying silent for a few minutes she tried to read her.

“What if he wasn’t? Would you be taking me away?”

“Your lady mother gave me a task.”

“I don’t need saving, Lady Brienne. I learned to protect myself long ago.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you before, but I am glad you found a way to survive and to protect yourself. You traveled with them? The brotherhood?”

“I did. My husband, Gendry, and I. We both did.”

“Did he… Back then?”

“No, we protected each other.”

“I’m glad. Did you agree to this match?”

“I did. Stannis believed in a prophecy that called for an alliance between our houses, and he will help me reclaim my home, and oust the Boltons from the North.”

“I was sworn to your mother. I will help you.”

“You did not seem surprised to find me here. I would have expected you to have heard about my marriage to Ramsey Bolton. Yet, you were not.”

“I knew of their deceit," Brienne confessed with eyes cast down. "Ser Jaime informed me.”

“I noticed the pommel of your sword. Is it true? What they say about you? Are you a Lannister spy?”

“I am not, my lady.”

“And yet Jaime Lannister trusted you with that information and gave you a Valyrian sword. Last I knew House Lannister did not have Valyrian steel. Tywin tried hard to acquire one for his house, but no gold could buy it. Yet, my family’s sword was never returned.”

“My lady…”

“What’s its name?”

“Oathkeeper.”

“What oath do you keep, Lady Brienne? To my late mother or to the Kingslayer?”

“I was sworn to your mother, and I vowed to find her daughters. She tasked me with it, and it was she who freed Ser Jaime. I was to escort him to King’s Landing and trade him for both of you.”

“And yet, you didn’t, but you ended up with what I imagine is half my father’s sword.”

“Jaime gave it to me, he wanted me to keep my oath.”

“Did you find my mother after what she became?”

“No.”

“I did. She recognized me for a mere moment, and then her eyes went back to seek only revenge. I’m glad you did not find my mother again, Lady Brienne. You wouldn’t have survived her.”

“What happened to Lady Catelyn?”

“Everything, but Lady Stoneheart is no more, and my mother finally rests.”

“I was part of King Renly’s guard when I met your mother. He was your husband’s uncle, younger than Stannis.”

“That’s the name you called Gendry.”

“It was like seeing a ghost. A bit broader, angrier.”

“That’s just Gendry. His face froze into a scowl, but if you know what to say, you can make him laugh.”

“Renly liked to smile and laugh. Your mother and I were there when he died.”

“Who killed him?”

“A shadow.”

“A shadow?”

“Your mother got a good look. A shadow that looked exactly like Stannis Baratheon. No one believed us at first.”

“I lived in Essos. I heard about shadowbinding there. About blood magic and how only a few know how to conjure such a thing. I heard that shadowbinders come from Asshai, near the Shadow Lands.”

“Do you know anyone from Asshai, my lady?”

Both women turned to see Lady Melisandre, watching from afar.

“Yes, I thought so as well,” Brienne said.

* * *

That night, in her sleeping mat, and with Gendry’s arms around her, Arya felt restless. Her left hand came to her ear, and barely touching the skin there, she tried to recreate the ghost trace of Gendry’s fingers, placing the flower in her hair. 

_‘You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’_

His words, an incantation that she could not shake off her thoughts.

She had not allowed herself to think of it, since the night of their marriage. She let herself remember the way he had looked at her, of his half-lidded eyes, and the growls he had made as he sought his pleasure in her. She had convinced herself, back then, that he was just a man, rutting against a warm womanly form, and nothing else. 

It was only then that she had allowed herself to think that it could be true and that there really was something in his eyes when he looked at her, something that hungered for her. She thought of the way they’d wake up, with his hand clutching her hard by the hip, and those drowsy moments, before he stood up abruptly to leave the tent when she was almost sure he had rubbed himself against her. 

As she thought of that, she felt Gendry burying his face more in her hair and mumbling something unintelligible. She may not have been able to sleep, but she felt safe in his arms, feeling the heat seeping from him to her. The sweet thoughts in her head were abruptly interrupted, by the image of Gendry in the Riverrun forge, with Melisandre leaning into him. 

_‘He’s got a great fire in him,’_ the voice of the red witch poisoned her thoughts. 

She had heard of shadowbinding in Braavos and other types of blood magic. She knew that the priests and priestess of R’hllor believed in the light and that shadows are servants of the bright fires of the Lord of Light. 

She knew then that there would not be sleep for her, not for a long time, anyway, and so, she squirmed her way out of her husband’s embrace. Gendry did not wake, but he tried to hold on to her, and he grumped when she escaped, making her smile. She donned her leather breeches and her boots, and she wrapped herself in her cloak. Before she left the tent, she dared one more look towards Gendry, and she picked up the sword he had placed on a small table. 

Outside, Nymeria stood up and started walking alongside her, and she went with a firm step towards the wagon where they had placed Brienne and Pod. 

Once she reached her destiny, she noticed that this time, it was two young squires, the ones that guarded the prisoners, and they did not hesitate to leave when she ordered them, both scared shitless of Nymeria.

Unwrapping the chains that held the door, she opened it, and she was able to see both prisoners, waking and standing up.

“Brienne of Tarth,” Arya called her, signaling for both of them to exit the wagon.

Once they did, they stood in front of her. 

“You swear you are still loyal to my dead mother?”

“I do, my lady,” Brienne said, and with that, she fell to one knee. “And now that your mother is dead, my fealty is only yours.”

“What of you?” Arya asked, looking at the young squire.

Podrick fell to his knees as well, and then he swore, “I follow Lady Brienne, and only her. If my lady swears fealty only to you, then I, too, will be loyal, only to you, Arya of House Stark.”

“Good. Stand up then.”

“I cannot fight for Stannis Baratheon, my lady, that is the only thing I cannot do.”

“Our alliance is of convenience, and I trust no one but my husband. I intend to go North and take my home and my realm with me and finish what my brother started. What I need of you, Brienne, is to look for my sister.”

“Lady Sansa,” Podrick was quick to say, still hopeful it would mean to find Lord Tyrion as well, but careful to keep that to himself.

“Ser Dontos Hollard spirited her away, after the Purple Wedding,” Brienne explained. “Nothing else has been known of them, but I doubt Ser Dontos was anything else but a pawn on someone else’s game. 

“Who do you think was behind Joffrey’s murder?”

“The Tyrells or-”

“Littlefinger,” Arya interrupted her.

“Lord Baelish.”

“I need you to search for my sister.”

“The Reach or the Vale?” Brienne asked her.

“I doubt the Tyrells have Sansa.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I heard of the imprisonment of Queen Margaery, if the Tyrells had Sansa, they would have already traded her for Margaery.”

“The Vale, then?”

“Yes.”

“What will you tell Stannis?”

“Leave that to me.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Arya, call me Arya, Brienne.”

“You will not regret this.”

“Take this with you,” Arya said, taking the sword from her scabbard, and placing it on Brienne’s hands, who noticed the crushed pommel.

“Under the gold, that is still my father’s sword. Use it to fulfill the promise you made my mother, and I hope to see you soon in the North, along with my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of newcomers. I hope you enjoyed seeing old faces in this chapter. 
> 
> Next chapters will be quite eventful, both politcs and relationships wise. 
> 
> Thank you once more, everyone, for taking the time to read, and if you'd find the time to leave me your thoughts, I'd be very grateful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya faces Stannis' reaction at her release of Brienne of Tarth. The convoy continues north, to Seagard and the Twins. Thoros answers some of Arya's questions, including ones about great fires and shadows. Arya and Gendry discuss Melisandre's plans for them and their potential children. They enter the Neck, and start to discover some of its mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, @thereluctantbadger for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> Now, I want to say that while this story follows book canon, I do not intend to say that this is how the books should go, nor that it is the absolute last word on how I want them to progress. This is only my exploration of ideas and daydreams of mine, flawed and limited, but what I wanted the to read one night, when I started imagining this premise. I encourage you, if your daydreams differ from mine, to explore yours, as this universe can only be enriched by more voices. 
> 
> I want to dedicate this chapter to my readers who are (like me) not English native speakers. I'm always happy to respond to comments left in Spanish, as I speak it, and I wish I could do it in other languages by my French is mediocre and I can't remember much from my German classes. But if you feel like you cannot express yourself in English and you want to leave a comment, please, be welcome to do it in your native language, I can always use Google Translate ;)
> 
> And last, but not least. This chapter's pace is a bit speedy, I know, but you'll see I really wanted to get to the Neck.
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time to read.

[ ](https://imgur.com/wPvDv92)

"Get up! Get up!" the king's voice bellowed inside the tent, violently waking the sleeping bodies cuddled together under the furs.

Gendry woke up confused, his body still wrapped around his wife, but with Stannis' face unusually close.

Arya was quick on her feet, her nightshirt clung to her askew, covering enough of her private parts but leaving her legs uncovered. Gendry, on the other hand, was wearing only his smallclothes, but he had never been shy about his naked body, and he stood up right away.

"What were you thinking when you let that woman loose, _girl_?!" the king yelled, inside the tent, his demureness and observation of social costumes gone. Gendry saw him charging towards Arya, and his mind did not need to be made up before his body came to stand next to his wife.

"You have some nerve, _girl_!"

He knew what this was about, as Arya told him that she had freed Brienne of Tarth and her squire, the moment she came back to their tent the previous night.

Gendry was asleep, but he sensed the moment his wife climbed back into their sleeping mat, and he sat up.

"I need to tell you something," she said.

"What is it?"

"I let _her_ go."

His drowsy brain felt like walking through mud.

"Let _who_ go?"

"Brienne of Tarth, the woman the brotherhood seized."

Gendry understood the implication.

"Why?"

"I sent her to look for my sister."

"That's why you asked me to smash that lion pommel."

"It was silly, I know. I just couldn't live another moment with a lion attached to whatever was left of my father's sword."

"It was garish. Beautifully made, as all of Tobho's work, but still, too much for a Valyrian sword. The extraordinary thing of such a sword is on the Valyrian steel of the blade, not on the adornments."

"I wish you had seen Ice."

"Was it a greatsword?"

"Yes."

"That sword you brought me, it was just a longsword. I'll bet my life on Tobho making two out of your father's Ice."

Arya had been silent, and then a sob prompted Gendry to gather her in his arms and lay down on the mat with their bodies embracing. He hadn't noticed when they fell asleep until Stannis woke them up screaming in their tent. 

"How could you do that, _girl_?!"

"My name is Arya, of Houses Stark and Baratheon, I am no girl!" Arya replied, where she stood, with Gendry standing next to her. 

The king seemed challenged by her words, and he charged, making Gendry step forward, shielding her with his body.

"Get out of my way, _boy_!"

"You have another _fucking_ thing coming if you think I'll let you talk to my wife that way!"

"I am your _king_ , you owe me everything."

"And Arya is _my wife_ , and I won't let anyone speak to her in that tone, _uncle_."

"My king," Ser Davos Seaworth intervened then, coming into the tent and trying to diffuse the situation. "Mayhaps, it would be better if we take a moment to let everyone calm down. Or at least, let your nephew and good niece dress properly."

"You let _my_ prisoner go. She tried to kill me, and you set her free!" the king yelled, ignoring the words of his hand.

"She was not _your_ prisoner. She was a prisoner of the brotherhood without banners, and they are sworn to _me_. It was my decision what to do with her. More, since she is my sworn shield."

"You have no idea what you are talking about."

The king snorted. 

"You have these outlaws show up, and bend the knee to you, and you never reminded them that _I_ am the rightful king. A prisoner makes an attempt on my life, and not only you set her free, but you place a sword on her hand."

"If she had meant to kill you, you'd be dead already," Arya replied with a shrug of her shoulders. 

"You have some nerve."

"You did not have to ally with me, and yet you needed my help for your god's plans. You have your army, and I have mine. Don't worry, she will not try to kill you. She's sworn to me, and I sent her to look for my sister. Once this war is over, and you sit on your Iron Throne, and a Stark sits as king or queen in the North, then, you will decide what to do with Brienne of Tarth. In the meantime, do not ever talk to me like this again!"

"Fine! Do as you please. But remember, you will have the North because of me."

And with that, the king turned around and left their tent. 

"Are you alright?" Gendry asked and tried to assess her, running his hands up and down her arms.

"I am alright."

* * *

After getting dressed, they left their tent and went to break their fast. Arya and Gendry found the brotherhood huddled together around a fire, each one of them eating a bowl of porridge.

"Heard you released the wench," Lem said, as Arya and Gendry sat down.

"That's none of your business, Lem," Gendry barked back. "Last I heard is that you lot swore to follow Arya, if she decided to release that woman, it is not for you to question it, just do as she says."

"Aye. Do you also just do as _she_ says?" Lem replied, and then under his breath, he added, "Even in bed?"

Gendry stood up then.

"Leave it," Arya instructed him and pulled his hand to get him to sit back down.

"We are going to march north, through the Neck. We'll have to find a way to take Moat Cailin, without the Boltons ambushing us. I require men to follow me north and men to stay here, in the Riverlands, and defend it from the Lannisters coming after we leave. The question is, who of you will go north, and who will stay here?"

"I'm a Northerner, and I was sworn to your father," Harwin replied. "I'll follow you north, and help you take the Boltons down, or I will die trying."

Arya nodded his way.

Lem responded then, "I've been here long enough. I'll follow you to the North. At the very least, there should be new tavern wenches there."

"I will consult the flames, see what path the Lord of Light shows me," Thoros explained.

Gendry huffed, "Funny that. If the red witch sees one thing on her fires, and you see another."

Thoros smiled crookedly and then spoke, "The Lord of Light saw me to this land, long ago, to convert late King Aerys to his worship, but I failed miserably. Later, after the rebellion, I met your father. Once more, I failed to bring the king of the Seven Kingdoms into R'hllor's devotion, and instead, Robert won me over to his worship of wine and whores. And then one day Beric died, and for reasons that only the Lord of Light knows, he made me his instrument, to bring Beric back, because he was not done with him. Who was I to question that? Before, the flames showed me inconsequential things sometimes, and then nothing, but since I surrendered to him, to do with me as he needed, the fires had suddenly a lot to say. I couldn't tell you why the priestess Melisandre sees what she sees in R'hllor's fires, nor if her interpretations are correct. I can only tell you what he shows _me_ , and that I will help you, in the way he commands me to."

"Fair enough," Arya replied, and she could see out of the corner of her eye that it was not a reply that pleased Gendry.

Beardless Dick, Notch, and Likely Luke decided to stay in the Riverlands, while Mudge, Dennet, and Jack-Be-Lucky pledged themselves to the Northern cause.

"What happened with Ned and Anguy?" Arya asked, finally noticing their absence.

Gendry huffed, and Arya knew it was regarding the young squire he had never been fond of.

"Anguy left a while ago before I did," he replied and said nothing about the Dornish boy.

"Ned went back to Dorne," Harwin explained. "After Beric died. He took his sword and went back home. He said his aunt deserved to know her betrothed had died. We haven't heard anything from him since."

* * *

That night after supper, Arya left Gendry in their tent, petting Nymeria. He had asked where she was going, and she explained she wanted to consult Thoros as he prayed in front of his nightfire. Gendry stood up at once, but Arya asked him to stay. It bothered him that she chose to go alone, but he didn't complain, and instead, he simply nodded.

It hadn't been hard to find Thoros, he had walked away from the camp to erect the brazier for his fires, but the light guided her, and once she was close enough, it was easy to spot him, his back to her, and his profile highlighted by the glow of the flames in front of him. 

"Thoros?" Arya called.

"Yes?" he replied without turning.

"What does _he_ show you in his flames?"

Arya's question finally pulled Thoros' eyes from the fire, and turned to her, signaling with his hand for her to come next to him.

"Is there something you wish to ask the Lord of Light?"

"No, I'm not sure I believe in him if that is what you are asking."

"Ah! Do you believe in your old Northern gods or in the seven?"

"I believe in what I used to feel when we were in Winterfell's godswood, and my father would sit by the heart tree, polishing my family's Valyrian steel sword."

"Hmmm, I can see that," Thoros replied. 

For a moment, Arya wondered if he could see it in the flames, or if it was just a figure of speech. 

"Why do you want to know what I see in the fires of a god you do not trust?"

"I saw you bring Beric back, and I saw what the kiss did to my mother. I know there is magic in that god of yours."

"But?"

"But I fear what your god intends to do with those I l… care about."

Thoros of Myr was able to hear the stumble in Arya's choice of words.

"I understand, from Lady Melisandre, that you and Gendry married because she saw your union in the fires."

"It's true."

"Did you believe in them then?"

"We did not marry because a witch convinced the king of what she saw. We had _our_ reasons, but the alliance with Stannis is equally beneficial."

"What do _you_ see?" Thoros asked, pointing towards the fire in front of them.

"Just flames, wood and embers."

"Look at it for a while, try to see through it. Do you see a stag? Your direwolf in the snow? A great war?"

"No," Arya replied. "Is that what you see in the flames?"

"No. I didn't say that _I_ saw those things. I asked if that is what _you_ see or _want_ to see."

"There's no use. It's just fire."

"What do you see in your dreams?"

Arya turned to look at him, trying to decide if he knew more than what he was letting.

"You have dreams," he reiterated.

"How would you know that?"

"I didn't, but you've told me now. Some of us learn to see things in the flames, while others hear whispers in their ears, and there are even those who dream of them. There are many types of magic."

"I thought you believed your god to be the only god."

"Aye. I do. I _believe_ my god has many ways, but that shouldn't stop you from believing what you do."

"What does your god tell you then? About my quest? Will you march north or stay in the Riverlands?"

"R'hllor has shown me men covered in mud, crawling out of bogs and climbing a broken tower made of stone. And nothing else."

"Does he show you Gendry?"

"What is it that you fear?"

"Whatever plans your god has for his _great fire_."

"Ah!" Thoros said, looking back into the flames. "A _great fire_ brights the darkness, but it also casts a long shadow."

"Help me keep his _great fire_ within him, and not consumed for your god's cause."

"I shall do my best, but if you don't mind me saying something…"

"What is it?"

"A great fire requires feeding, and that, my lady, I believe it to be in _your_ hands, and not mine."

* * *

Arya would have never characterized Stannis' treatment of her and Gendry as warm, but after she released Brienne, it was definitely icy. He stopped addressing them directly, and instead, he sent all communications through Ser Davos or one of his king's men. It was, to a certain extent, better, but it didn't stop the red woman from continuing to seek Arya out. 

"You are flowering," the red woman said to her without a preamble, as Arya was about to mount her mare.

"I beg your pardon?"

"There are no secrets for him, the lord knows whenever blood is spilled."

It was true that her moonblood had arrived the day before, in a less dramatic fashion than the previous time. 

"Why is your lord so interested in my bodily functions?" she asked, knitting her brows.

"A child made with the blood of kings, the first men, and the gods of the seas and the storms. The Lord of Light cares for it. In particular, when he called for the union that shall bring _him_ to life."

Arya heard the growl first, and for a second, she wondered if it had come from within her chest, but soon Nymeria was standing next to her, her golden eyes fixed on the red woman. Arya knew better than not noticing all the symbols Melisandre mentioned that would make the mix of Gendry's blood and hers rich with magic. She also didn't miss the conviction with which the priestess talked of it being a son.

"Are you trying to tell me that the Lord of Light not only called for my marriage but for my husband to get his child in me?"

"There will be great power in a child of the stag and wolf."

"Aye. I see. Tell me, Lady Melisandre. Is this child of mine where my husband's great fire must go? Or do you have other plans for it?"

The red woman smiled, and tilting her head to her side, she answered, "The only god rewards great fire, and from its bright light shadows are cast. Our king cannot spare any more fire for the shadows we need to defeat our enemies. Other sources must be sought."

"My husband's fire burns only for me, Lady Melisandre."

The priestess nodded, as conceding that battle to Arya, but then, opening her eyes, she started another bout.

"You are young and fertile, and your husband's fire is great. That is not a secret to R'hllor, and yet, you bleed."

"Hmmm, I was on the assumption that the Lord of Light was more invested in sowing a male child in the queen's womb, before blessing _me_ , with one."

"We are not to question his ways."

"Nor force his hand."

* * *

When they were less than a day away from Seagard, Gendry noticed Arya's unusual silence as they rode. He had seen her talking with the red priestess earlier that day, and they got ready for the last leg before they arrived at House Mallister's keep.

"What did she say to you this time?"

"Nothing new."

"You must really think me an idiot, and not just use it as a term of endearment."

"I _do_ think you're an idiot."

"And you _do_ use it as a term of endearment."

Arya groaned then, and Gendry felt himself grin.

"She wanted to know why _your seed_ hasn't quickened in my womb."

Gendry pulled the reins on his horse, making it stop, and extending his arm to hers, forcing her to pause as well. 

They moved a bit of the way, letting the rest of the men pass them by.

"What?!" he asked, turning towards Arya.

"You wanted to know what my talk with her was about."

"Why does she want you with child?" he asked, and Arya could hear the worry in his tone. 

"Apparently, a child of _ours_ , rich with the blood of kings and various other types of magic, is of great interest to her god."

"And what are _his_ plans for _our_ child?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

Gendry stayed silent for a while, and then he spoke, "It's a good thing that there is no risk of such child coming to be, then."

Gendry's words cut Arya deep, salting the wound with the realization of how they had affected her, but there was no way for her to know, that the same words had left her husband's mouth tasting of blood.

"That wasn't all," Arya chose to say after. "I fear that she wants your fire for shadowbinding."

"What the _fuck_ is that?"

"You heard Brienne of Tarth when she talked about the shadow that killed your uncle Renly."

"Aye."

"I heard of shadowbinders when I was in Braavos. The mountains, far east of Essos, are known as the Shadow Lands. Asshai is at its edge."

"Isn't that where _she's_ from?"

"Yes. They say that shadowbinders create shadows, and they bind them to their will. She told me that Stannis has no fire to spare to make shadows to defeat our enemies, but you do."

"Ser Davos told me about sailing her to Storm's End, and seeing her birth a shadow."

"She birthed a shadow just as she would have a flesh and blood babe, how do _you_ think she got it _in_ her?"

Gendry stared at Arya, letting the words sink in. 

"She wants me to _fuck_ a shadow monster in her?!" 

The word _'fuck'_ had come louder than he intended, and they both saw some men look their way and snicker, as they rode by the place where they were stopped, still atop their horses, but Gendry had whispered the rest when he noticed them.

"That's what I fear."

"Well, she can fuck herself then, I told you I won't ever disrespect you like that, I am not like Robert, nor like Stannis."

Arya couldn't stop from smiling at his pledge, and Gendry noticed a bit of tinting on her cheeks, which confused his mood, going from the flash rage he felt, to a growing cockiness at the effect his words had on his wife.

"We should catch up," Arya said, kicking at her horse to start trotting and turning her face away from Gendry, trying to hide her reaction. 

* * *

After being on the road for over a fortnight, it was odd to leave their troops in their camp, and change their armor and traveling garb for the rich attire of lords and ladies and head into Seagard castle. There, they were welcomed by Lord Jason Mallister and his family. As soon as they were shown inside, Ser Davos inquired for ravens from the convoy that left Riverrun for Maidenpool. There was only one, sent by Ser Axell Florent, informing them that they had reached the port without a problem and that they were to set sail for White Harbor. The raven had arrived long before, and there were no new ones. Though, it was decided that it was still early to have received one from White Harbor, but mayhaps, by the time they reached the Twins, there would be news.

Both Lord Jason and his son Patrek expressed their gratitude to Arya, as they believed she was the one responsible for them having being freed from the Twins. Lord Mallister then pledged himself to Stannis' cause, which at least assuaged the king a bit in his dissatisfaction with the continued support for Arya. 

Seagard had just a few men to spare, but the support that they had to offer was to fend the Riverlands coast against the Ironborn fleet and to provide a strategic route to the North, sailing west, should the need arose. 

After supper, and after everyone had retired for the night, Arya received a note from Jason Mallister, asking for an audience in the lord's solar. Gendry had gone with her to meet him, and they had wondered why Lord Mallister had not said whatever it was he wanted to discuss during supper.

"My lady," Jason Mallister greeted her with a bow when he saw Arya coming in, but then, he seemed surprised to see Gendry following her. "Oh! My lord."

"You wanted to see me?" Arya inquired.

The man nodded, but he seemed unsure.

Arya sensed the lord's hesitance, and she said, "Whatever you have to say to e you can say in front of my husband."

"I'm sorry, my lord, I did not mean anything untoward," he explained, and then he turned towards Arya, "I possess some information from your late brother that it is important that you know. I didn't bring it up in front of King Stannis, because, while it is information pertinent to the North, it may not be to his best interest."

Arya turned to her husband, and after a moment, it was Gendry who replied, "Do not worry, Lord Jason. My loyalty is first and foremost to my wife."

"Very well," the man spoke then, inviting both of them to sit with him by the hearth. "Your brother, the king, he worried about dying without issue, as he believed all of his siblings to have been lost, with the exception of your sister Sansa. But given she had been wed to Tyrion Lannister, he feared the lions could claim the North through her. He wrote a will, and many of us present added our seals to it. While I do not know the exact wording at the end, I was privy to some of the ideas your brother had on that matter."

Lord Mallister remained silent, letting the information sink for Arya. She had not realized she had held her breath when Lord Jason had mentioned Robb, but when she let it go, it had come out as a quiet sob. Gendry's hand had been quick to seek hers, and once he found it, and took it, Arya's fingers intertwined with his, needing the support. 

"I am sure your brother disinherited your sister, to keep the Lannisters from taking Winterfell. And I do know your brother argued with your mother about naming your half brother Jon as his heir."

"Jon?" Arya asked, and at that moment, a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I thought bastards could not inherit," Gendry wondered out loud.

"It is my belief that the will should have included his legitimation. Only a king can do that, and your brother was King in the North. If anything, it should have been recognized by the Northern houses, as the North had declared its independence."

Arya took a deep breath then, and after a moment, she spoke, "What happened to the will?"

"I'm not sure, but I do not think King Robb had it with him when he went to the Twins. What I do know, though, is that your brother sent Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Galbart Glover to look for Greywater Watch. I know because he tasked me with sending them in two distinct ships through the Neck."

Arya brushed her cheek, and then spoke, "Thank you, my lord. You've given me much to think about."

"It's the least I could do, after all, my son and I came home because of you. I just wished there was more I could tell you."

They bid Lord Mallister goodnight, and they head back to their assigned room in silence. That night, Arya turned away from Gendry, and gone to sleep, her thoughts and feelings as far from him as she once had been when she crossed the narrow sea.

* * *

The short trip to the Twins had been quite different from all their earlier times on the road. Gendry perceived Arya's sudden distance. He was able to sense the change in her, after what Lord Mallister had disclosed to them regarding Robb's will, and what it would mean for her brother Jon. Arya was unusually taciturn, and to top it all, they were on their way to be guests to the very same place where her mother and brother had been killed after sharing bread and salt. 

When they reached the Twins, they were welcomed by Roslin's sisters Jyanna, Arwyn, and Shirei, along with the youngest of Frey sons and grandchildren. Arya placed in Jyanna's hand the letter that her good aunt Roslin had placed in hers, as they left Riverrun. Once more, Ser Davos inquired for any ravens from the queen and their men, but nothing had arrived. 

Arya had been at the Twins before, but she had worn another's face, and it had been easy to be No One. This time, though, it was quite different. Arya apologized and refused to have supper in the great hall, choosing instead to have a light one in their guest chambers. 

"You stayed here before," Gendry said after the light from the candle was blown, and they waited, under the furs, until their eyes got used to the dark, and they could make out their shapes once more. 

"I came down from White Harbor after I learned everything that happened. I was to make a small stop here and then head for King's Landing to cross out more names. I didn't sleep though, a _girl_ was to bring Lord Walder his supper to his rooms, and do as he pleased. In the end, he didn't have the stamina, and his bony fingers were busy, trying to claw at the skin of his throat. I left soon after."

"Good,” Gendry said. “Winter came for Walder Frey."

Arya stayed silent for a while, long enough that Gendry’s eyes got used to the dark, and he was able to see her profile, her long lashes, and the shape of her nose. He couldn't see more, but he suspected her tears had spilled, for the way her hand brushed at her eyes. 

"But he sat here,” she continued after a while, “and he drank, and he laughed, and he fucked, for five long years, while worms ate my brother's body, and my mother sought her revenge, with her throat still open from side to side."

Gendry pulled her to him then, and his lips sought the salty trails of her tears as if he could chase away the sorrow with kisses. His mouth worshiped her eyelids, her forehead, and her high cheeks, reminding Arya of another time, when he did the same, trying to keep her from ache. It was a childish desire, a futile endeavor, trying to chase the sorrow away, but she let him continue. Arya allowed him to turn her in his arms, so his kisses graced her nose, and the other cheek. His left hand found its way to the back of her head, and his fingers tangled themselves in her hair. Arya turned her head slowly, aiding him in his quest. Gendry hadn't expected it, and half his kiss landed on Arya's lips. Arya felt his sharp intake of breath, and how it pulled the touch of his lips away, but her mouth chased behind, kissing the corner of his mouth, and she felt it curled under her kiss. 

In silence, they continued, a game of half kisses and smiles hidden in the dark, until they both turned in the opposite direction at the same time, and they could no longer pretend that those were kisses only meant for comfort. They both froze, for a moment, staying still, but lip to lip, until Gendry ventured, swaying his head so very slowly, to let himself caress her with his mouth. Arya inhaled deeply and then exhaled, parting her mouth in a warm invitation that he was quick to take. 

Their kiss grew, like a flame, fed by their combined breaths. Gendry's hand let go of her head, and instead, it came to her lower back, pulling her closer to him. Arya's legs parted slightly, to grant him space to rest in between, and allow him to embrace her better. Gendry teased her lower lip, wetting it with his tongue, and moving his lips over it. Then, he pulled away, lightly, making her chase after him with her mouth. When Arya caught up to his scheme, he grinned against her mouth, inciting Arya to retaliate, biting on his lower lip, with just the right hint of pain to make him groan. 

Arya had lost herself in the moment, but just as it had started, the passion came to a halt, when she opened her eyes, and she saw enough to make her feel foreign in a chamber that was not hers, and reminded her, violently, that House Frey wasn't a kind place for wolves. 

Her hand left the back of his head, abruptly, and came in between them, to push on his naked chest, forcing his mouth to part from its prey. Gendry opened his eyes to hers, and he asked a silent question.

"Not in here," she explained.

He had exhaled then, and pulled her head against his chest, willing his heart to stop galloping, until a steady rhythm convinced her troubled mind to let her rest. 

They didn't talk about it the next morning, and thankfully, Stannis and their group were eager to keep heading north, as Melisandre and Thoros announced that their nightfires from the previous evening had shown them that they were to hasten their steps. 

They crossed the Twins and continued on the kingsroad north, making sure to bring with them as many ravens for White Harbor as the Frey sisters were able to spare, just as they had done at Seagard. 

* * *

There was no question when they reached the Neck, as the environment significantly changed. What had been green and lush, became muddy and damp. They had kept to the causeway, the highest land of the Neck, and through which the kingsroad ran. That did not mean that it was dry, it was a narrow way, firm enough for their horses to continue through, but it made their advance slow. 

Ser Davos looked around when they had already been several hours on the causeway, noticing that there were no roads nor markings that would signal the way towards a village or some type of settlement.

"How will we find Greywater Watch?" he asked.

"We won't," Arya replied with aplomb. "The crannogmen will find us. We are being watched already."

Gendry was not surprised by that, he had felt the uneasiness since they had started their trek through the swamplands. 

"When will they show themselves?" Ser Davos continued his inquires.

"When they are convinced we're their allies," Arya responded.

"And if they are not?"

"Their arrows will let us know."

Gendry could see the fear in the knights, riding along with them. Fortunately, for the men behind, their ignorance would make their last moments worry-free, at least. 

It was after dusk when the crannogmen made themselves known. Arya had been looking for them in between the bog vegetation, but she had not been able to see any. It had been the same when she had walked south from White Harbor, fresh off the boat from Essos, when the gossip in the port town had made her decide to head to the Twins, instead of trying to go to Winterfell. It had taken her ten long days, walking, instead of riding. And just like that time, she could feel eyes on her, but she didn't see anyone. 

This time, it was the sudden lantern light that made them stop where they were. One, three, five, ten, twenty. Suddenly, light shone ahead of them, and among the vegetation on both sides. 

"Who goes there?" a gruff voice called from ahead.

"Arya of House Stark."

"Arya of House Stark sits at Winterfell with her husband, Ramsey Bolton."

"Aye," Arya responded. "A girl who calls herself Lady Bolton sits at Winterfell. While I walk with the only direwolf south of the Wall."

There was silence for long, tense moments, during which Gendry was able to see the glint of arrowheads reflecting the lantern light.

"You wish safe passage to the North, with an army?"

"No, I wish safe passage to Greywater Watch."

"You wish to take it?"

"I wish a word with Lord Howland Reed, a good friend of my father."

Silence reigned for a few more moments, and suddenly all lanterns went off.

Gasps from their men could be heard, and Arya felt as Gendry made his horse go forward a bit, and reached his hand to hers. 

A lantern was lit once more, this time, only one ahead of them, and they saw it approaching. Slowly, the light grew, until the man holding it was close enough that they could make out his form in the dark. He was short and dressed in leathers caked in mud.

"You will have to leave your horses and your weapons. I will escort you to Greywater Watch.”

"We cannot leave our weapons!" Ser Alester yelled.

"If you want to go to Greywater, you will. You can leave your army here while you and your knights are taken to Lord Reed. If he commands it, we'll reunite you with your men, horses, and weapons."

* * *

They all ended up dismounting, some more begrudgingly than others. Arya, Gendry, and Nymeria, along with the red woman, the king and his men started following the crannogmen, the one with the lamp, and others that joined him. The brotherhood and the rest of their army stayed behind, guarding their horses and weapons. They walked off the causeway, and soon, their boots sunk in the mud. They walked like that for a while, until the swamp water was up to their knees. The red woman struggled, with her long ample red skirts getting filthy and making her steps difficult. She didn't complain, though, despite her ruined crimson silks, and instead, pulled at her hems, and waddled difficultly through the unsteady terrain. 

They soon reached dense thickets of half-drown trees that drooped, creating dark veils of vegetation, helping hide the rest of the Neck from the causeway. They followed obediently, wading, and walking around the trees and rocks on the way. Soon, the mud was turned into clearer water, that felt cold on their legs, and seeped right into their bones, giving them chills. Ahead of them, skin boats awaited, with more crannogmen guarding them. Gendry wondered for a moment if they would be blindfolded, and he was surprised when they were not. But later, when they moved through the bogs, with the men half rowing, half punting, he realized it would have been moot to cover their eyes; only those men that knew the way, snaking and winding through the swamp, following different streams and avoiding large fallen trees would be able to find their way back.

It was full dark by then, and despite the lit lanterns their guides carried, a dense fog that rose from the swamp made it hard to see beyond a couple yards ahead of them. 

"Over there," Arya said, holding on to Gendry’s arm and making him see ahead, a few lights, slowly becoming more visible. 

As they approached, they were able to see more and more torches, around wooden platforms that led from a tree to another, and then nothing. Small man-made islands, the crannogs, Arya had told him about, were almost imperceptibly floating and moving on the waters. Their guides kept moving along those makeshift dwellings, until ahead, something broke through the mist, a large wooden keep, different from anything else Gendry had ever seen.

"Greywater Watch," a man announced. 

They rowed until they reached a small port, where the boats were tied, and they were helped on to the moving platform. It wasn't at all as being on a ship, but it wasn't either as walking on firm ground. 

They were ushered inside, into a room with a table and chairs around it. It was supposed to be the seat of House Reed, but it was austere and humble. There were not rich tapestries on the walls, as Gendry had seen in Riverrun, and everything was in tones of green and brown, not to favor the house's colors, like Gendry, was used to seeing, but simply because there was no way to keep anything safe from stains of moss and mud. 

A man instructed them to wait there while they went to get Lord Reed. They stared around while they waited. Greywater Watch was different from any other keep Arya had set foot in before. There were no stone walls; instead, everything was built out of wood. The king was clearly looking down on the place, without the usual amenities a castle held. Still, it was clear to Arya and Gendry, that the men around acted as if standing in a place that demanded their respect and admiration.

Arya looked around at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the fire that roared in the hearth, and the thick pelts that hung on the walls. She could remember Maester Luwin telling her and Bran about House Reed, and its moving keep, and how exotic the idea of a castle that never stayed in the same place sounded. Bran had been quite interested in the topic, and she could remember how he could not fathom the idea that a seat of a great house rested on a place that could not be reached by ravens since it never stayed in the same place. 

After a while, the men that had instructed them to stay there came back, followed by a man. He was taller than Arya but significantly shorter than her father had been, and after him, a woman. Both of them, just as all the men that intercepted them, wore clothes and leathers in browns and greens. The man and woman that followed them were clearly their lord and lady, as their clothes seemed a bit nicer than the rest, but they were long ways away from being the fine silks Westeros' highborn were wont to wear. Their clothing was functional, in colors that wouldn't show stains, but they were also warm enough for the weather. Arya knew that Winterfell was far colder, but its walls had the spring veins, pumping warm water through it. The Neck was different, everything was damp, and the cold seeped into your bones, and it stayed there, making you feel far older than you were. 

The lord came and stood in the center of the room, in front where all his new guests were, and his wife joined him.

"Welcome, my name is Howland Reed. I am the lord of Greywater Watch."

Arya had grown up hearing stories about her father's crannog friend, and she remembered her siblings, making up stories about the lion-lizard, and the bog devils of the Neck. The truth was that the man was just a common man, a bit shorter, and with simpler clothes, than all the other lords Arya had been familiar with, but there was nothing otherworldly about him. 

There was something, though, about his wife. She was introduced as Jyana, no lady, and no maiden surname, only that she was the mistress of Greywater Watch. Arya stared at her, she was pretty, and she was sure she had been a great beauty years before. She could imagine her in gowns like her mother and Sansa used to wear. That thought stopped her dead in her tracks, there was nothing that told her that Jyana was a lady from a big house of Westeros, for all she knew, she could be just another crannogwoman, who had been lucky enough to have her liege lord choose her for his bride. But there had been something in her eyes, even as she tried to keep them from setting on any one of the newcomers. Whenever the lantern light hit them just right, there was no question about the unusual color. Arya had seen that color only once before in her life, in the eyes of a Dornish boy, dark enough that they could pass for blue, but if you stared, you would realize there were purple instead. Jyana Reed's were not as dark, they were lighter, framed by her dark black hair, their hue in the lantern light appearing almost as dancing violet flames. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts?
> 
> I know I rushed my way through Seagard and the Twins, but I didn't want two chapters of boring castle life. Hope like you rather start unveiling the secrets of the Neck instead. 
> 
> ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry are summoned to the godswood of Greywater Watch in the middle of the night. There, secrets will be revealed under the protection of the sacred trees. Something weighs heavily in Arya's mind, and Gendry tries to comfort her. Things that had been unspoken up to that point finally come out, and they are shared in the daylight. And Arya will get a confidant who will be happy to advise her on a sensitive topic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here it is. A chapter heavy with revelations. I don't know if it was that, that made it a bit harder to write. 
> 
> I want to dedicate this chapter to all the readers who keep coming to this story every weekend, and take the time to leave a comment. It is because of you that I have developed a writing discipline. 
> 
> Thank you.

[ ](https://imgur.com/wMtlIFf)

"I am Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdom's."

Howland Reed remained silent for a moment, and then he spoke, "We don't get as much news in the Neck, but I've heard the stories about the illegitimacy of King Robert's children. Why are you heading north?"

"To heed the call from the Night's Watch, help rid the North from the Boltons and to give Winterfell back to its rightful owners. After that, I hope that the North will back my claim."

Lord Reed was attentive to Stannis' words, but halfway through it, he was distracted by the young woman that stood next to the self-proclaimed king, with a great beast that could only be a direwolf standing alongside her. 

Arya noticed his interest, and once Stannis finished, she spoke, "My name is-"

"Stark. I don't know what your first name is, but your face alone tells me that you are a Stark of Winterfell. And that magnificent beast can only be the only direwolf south of the Wall."

"Arya. My name is Arya."

"You have the Stark look," Lord Reed said, looking at her as he recognized her. "Even more… I must say that looking at you is almost as seeing your aunt come alive again."

It could have been the half-light of the candles on the chandelier, but there was something glassy on Lord Reed's eyes.

"Did you know her? My aunt Lyanna?"

Howland exhaled loudly, and his wife placed her small fair hand on his arm, making him turn towards her, and cover it with his, which was quite dark and rough in contrast. 

Turning back towards Arya, he replied, "I did. Your aunt left a deep impression on those of us who had the pleasure to meet her."

"You were a friend of my father. He always spoke fondly of you."

"He was a dear friend," he said, turning towards his wife, and they seemed to share a moment. "We were very saddened when news of his execution reached us."

"And yet, you were absent," Stannis intervened, breaking the emotional moment. "His son raised up arms, called the banners and proclaimed himself King in the North, and yet, House Reed was missing."

Lord Reed did not contradict Stannis and nodded for him to continue.

"Later, your king, as the young wolf was certainly your king, was killed in cold blood, along with the wife of your _dear friend_ , and _you did nothing_."

Arya felt the blood in her veins get icy, and it had nothing to do with the cold dampness of the Neck.

"The Boltons marched north through _your_ land, and _you did nothing_."

Howland Reed nodded once more, and then he looked down. 

"There is much to discuss. _Tomorrow_ we can talk about wars and thrones if you so desire it," Howland said, looking at Arya instead of the king. "We will have time for that and more. But for right now, please join us for supper, you are our guests, and you shall be given chambers to rest tonight. I will send for the rest of your men. We will not have enough space in the keep, but they will be shown to dry land nearby where they can camp."

* * *

The table in the great hall of Greywater Watch was not as long nor as finely carved as the ones in all the previous keeps where they had supped. It merely sat eight chairs around it. Howland Reed had sat on one end, while his wife, Jyana, sat on the other. Stannis had been seated to the right of Lord Reed, along with Ser Alester and Melisandre, on the same end of the table, while Arya and Gendry were sitting at the end of Lady Jyana, with Ser Andrew and Ser Davos. 

The meal had been plentiful, with various simple dishes of greens and freshwater fish. They had been served water, mead, and ale, but not wine.

Arya knew she had been staring at Jyana Reed, still mesmerized by how the candlelight hit her irises, highlighting the violet in them. 

The lady of Greywater Watch caught her staring, and she simply smiled and then asked, "Is there something I can help you with, my lady?" 

"Please, call me Arya."

"Only if you call me Jyana."

"Of course."

"Is there anything I can do for you, _Arya_?"

"Your eyes," Arya said. "They are very beautiful."

Jyana Reed looked down for a moment, and then she looked directly into Arya's eyes and said, "Thank you."

"I was wondering if they are common here, in the Neck," Arya continued, and she could see that her comment left Jyana Reed uneasy, for the way she bit her lip. "I have only seen eyes that color once before."

"No," Jyana replied. "I'm afraid it is not a common trait, _here_ in the Neck."

"I've only met one other person before with purple eyes, an old companion, from my childhood. Ned Dayne."

Arya sensed Gendry tensing at the young squire's name, but she continued, "His eyes were purple, though his had a blueish hue, while yours are almost violet."

Jyana Reed remained quiet for a few moments, and her eyes went up and to the left. Then, after taking a sip of her water, she replied, "Purple eyes have always been common in _my_ family."

"Are you saying…?" Gendry asked, but he was unable to finish his question.

"That I was born a Dayne?" Jyana finished his question, and then she nodded. "Yes, in another life."

"My father never mentioned Lord Howland's wife being a Dornish woman."

Jyana smiled sadly, looking at her food.

"Your father kept _our_ secrets, just as we kept _his_."

The mention of her father's secrets reminded Arya how much it had always hurt when Jon was mentioned as the living proof of his tarnished honor. Arya wondered if it was always like that for children when they faced the truth of their parents having a life before them. It felt foreign, as a part of her father that she could never have.

"Pardon me, I have to admit that I never heard of Jyana Dayne," Arya ventured.

"That is because Jyana is not the name of my birth. You may have heard of another one, a falling star mayhaps?"

When Jyana finished what she had to say, she held her chin high, and the flames from the candles highlighted the deep wrinkles around her violet eyes. 

_'She must have smiled a lot when she was young,'_ Arya thought. 

But then again, she had hidden in the swamplands of the Neck, to conceal her identity. 

_'And she must have cried just as much.'_

"You're Ashara Dayne," Arya stated.

"Long ago."

* * *

After supper, the newcomers were shown to their assigned chambers. Arya and Gendry's was small and simple, and Gendry was pleased that his uncle had been led to a different wing of the keep. Thus he didn't have to deal with either his displeasure of the austerity of the lodging nor with any nightly activity he may attempt. 

Like the great hall, the room had wood all around them, and when Gendry placed his hand on the wall, he found it cold and damp. He then turned to see the bed in the corner, covered in thick furs, the pelts lying on the floor, and hung on the walls. While the Neck was the southernmost region of the North, the season was changing, and Lord Reed and his people were clearly getting ready for the winter to come. 

"It's cold," Gendry said, turning to Arya.

She came to stand beside him and placed her hand on the wall, next to his.

"It's different in Winterfell, you'll see. It's far colder there, and the walls are made of stone, but the waters from the spring pump under the walls and floors. Here is different."

Gendry found himself smiling at the promise of Winterfell, the way Arya talked about it, with such conviction that they would finally make it there, the second time around. There also seemed to be a promise in the air, that they'd go to their chambers at night, and Arya would grab his hand and make him feel the warmth from the veins of her home before they went to sleep together, with his arms wrapped around his wife. 

When he came back from his daydream, he looked around to find Nymeria, already lying on the floor in front of the fire, wrapping herself into a ball. The bed, he noticed, was wider than their traveling sleeping mat, but it wasn't as large as the beds on the other keeps where they had stayed.

"I guess Nymeria could sleep with you on the bed to keep you warm."

Arya had already started getting ready for bed, her boots had already been discarded, and she was in the process of disrobing. When Gendry offered to have Nymeria sleep with her, she lifted her head to face him. 

"You say that because you would rather sleep with Nym, or because you are worried I will freeze to death during the night?"

"Just trying to be nice," he replied, kicking his boots off. "If the bed was bigger, Nymeria could join us and keep us both warm, but it is small. I guess it is either Nym or me."

Arya scrunched up her face, and then she smiled, tilting her head to the side.

"Nym will do well on her own, as she seems to have claimed her place in front of the fire. I think my husband should be more than enough to keep me warm."

Gendry smiled and tugged at the ties at the front of his dark tunic, and then he took it off by pulling at the back of his collar. 

"It's quite remarkable, this place," he said as he took off his breeches, and Arya climbed under the furs, wearing only her linen shirt. 

"How so?" Arya asked, taking her bindings off from under the furs.

"I've never been anywhere that wasn't rooted to the ground," Gendry replied, climbing on the bed behind her. 

He set on his back with an arm under his head, and he extended the other one, giving a chance for Arya to find her place on the crook of his shoulder and wrapping that arm around her body.

Once she found her spot against him, Arya looked up at his face, deep in his train of thought, looking ahead and still speaking. 

"After being hunted down for years, there is something almost magical about a home that never stays in the same place," Gendry continued. "I could see why Lord Reed would just stay here and let the Seven Kingdoms fuck themselves into oblivion. And just live out his life safely, going to a soft bed with his wife to keep him warm."

Arya could see Gendry's profile, with the low light coming from the fireplace, and the bit of moonlight filtering from the window. He tended towards silence so often that it was almost comical when a thought had him that enthralled. He spoke about it so much that Arya feared he would exhaust a week's worth of talk. She cared little for the topic of his monologue, and she was more interested in following the line from his strong brow to the straight angle of his nose, and the faint look of his stubble in the moonlight. His lips were moving, and Arya thought that they had always look rough, but she knew well enough just how soft they really were. 

"Though, I must say," Gendry continued, "that I don't think I'd ever get used to the dampness and the cold. I guess you're right, I'm such a _bloody_ southron, while I'm sure you're perfectly fin-"

He didn't get to finish his thought because Arya had already covered his lips with hers and swallowed his words whole. 

Arya smiled wickedly against his lips when she felt Gendry inhale deeply, taking her breath into his mouth, and the hand that had been behind his head, coming to hold the back of hers. He snapped out of his trance and kissed her back with fervor. 

When the kiss calmed down, Arya pulled slightly away, to see his eyes glinting but still with a question in them. 

"Do you want to continue singing the praises of Greywater Watch?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

Gendry shook his head and pulled her back against him, kissing her with such passion that Arya's hair was mussed, and her lips bruised and puffy by the time they had to part for air. Instinctively, Gendry, pushed his head forward, so his nose caressed hers, both their lips curling at the softness of the gesture. 

"I don't think I'm quite as cold anymore," Arya said, smiling.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Because your husband would be more than willing to kiss you a bit more, just to make sure you don't freeze to death."

"I guess it is better to be safe than sorry."

They had barely started kissing again when soft knocking on the door interrupted them. They pulled apart, looking at each other, seeing both their faces reddening, as if the bubble around them had burst. The presence behind the door had made it impossible to ignore that their kissing was much more than comfort. 

There was a moment of silence, and they froze, not knowing what to say or do until the soft knocking resumed.

Gendry stood up, and he pulled the discarded breeches back on before he opened the wooden door. There, he found a young girl, who didn't speak, and simply extended her hand towards him. Gendry reached out to receive a small folded parchment, and after placing it on his palm, the girl left without saying a word.

"What is it?" Arya asked, already getting out of bed.

Gendry unfolded it, and read the words at the top.

"It's from Lord Reed, here," he said, handing it over to her. "You're better at reading."

Arya took it from his hand and quickly scanned the note.

"What is it?"

"He wants us to meet with him in the godswood after we're certain everyone has gone to sleep. When _the king_ , and his people have gone to sleep, to be more specific. He has something to tell us, but it's only for our ears," she explained, and after that, she threw the note to the flames.

"Do you trust him?"

"I do. But it is clear he doesn't trust Stannis."

* * *

They got dressed and left their room quietly, making sure not to wake anyone else. It was relatively easy to make their way outside. Once they were out, they did not know for sure which way they were supposed to go, but looking around, they saw lantern light ahead, in between the trees, and so they started heading that way, with only moonlight to shine their steps. 

They had to pay attention to the ground beneath their feet and make sure they didn't trip with the overgrown roots of the trees, or step on loose muddy ground and chance falling. It had been natural to search in the dark for each other's hands and walk hand in hand. The light ahead was the only sign they had to follow, and they hoped they had walked in the right direction. Once they were close enough, they noticed two hooded figures standing in the middle of tall weirwood trees. One of them, the stockier one, held the lantern with one hand, and on the other, the hand of the leaner one. 

When Arya and Gendry were close enough, the hooded man and woman let go of each other's hands, and pulled the hoods of their cloaks back, revealing themselves as Lord and Lady Reed. 

"I'm glad you found the way," Jyana spoke.

"We hoped we had been right following the lantern light."

"We can't risk anyone else knowing what I have to tell you," Howland explained as he blew out the light of the lantern. "We'll help you back when it's time."

Both Arya and Gendry nodded, more and more intrigued about what the Reeds had to tell them. 

"I hope that we can trust you," Howland continued, looking in Gendry's direction.

"Stannis will not hear anything you speak of, not from me."

"Nor me," Arya added.

Howland and Jyana walked towards the largest of the trees, prompting Arya and Gendry to do the same. Arya ran her hand over the bark the large tree and said, "there is no face carving."

"There are no carved faces on our weirwoods," Jyana explained. "Greywater Watch moves, and we can't risk anyone using a heart tree to find it."

"For crannogmen," Howland added, "any weirwood can be a heart tree. We believe they are all connected, tied under our feet to every godswood that holds weirwoods in the land. Each of our trees is sacred, and any promise made in front of one is solemn, just as any secret that is revealed here is to be protected."

"Is that why we're here? To reveal secrets?" Gendry asked. 

"About my father," Arya spoke, and she made sure not to make it into a question.

"Your father and I fought together during Robert's Rebellion. He was my friend."

"Father used to talk about you, plenty, but you never came to Winterfell, and when we went south to King's Landing, he didn't attempt to stop here."

Howland nodded in agreement and looked down as he spoke, "It didn't mean that we did not care deeply for one another."

"He said that you were there in Dorne when he went to rescue my aunt. That he wouldn't have survived if it weren't for you."

"Your father gave me too much credit."

"Didn't you help him defeat Ser Arthur Dayne?"

"In a matter of speaking, but not the way you think."

"Are all crannogmen as cryptic as you?" Gendry asked.

His wife laughed softly. 

"Is this about my brother Jon?" Arya asked, and she turned to look at Jyana. "Father never told anyone who was his mother. Not my mother, not even Jon. But…"

"But?" Howland asked.

"But, there was gossip."

"What do you know of her?" Howland asked, testing her.

Arya turned to his wife.

"Your nephew Ned, he told me it was his wet nurse, Wylla. But my father was an honorable man, he wouldn't have just lain with any woman…"

Both Howland and his wife shared a look and nodded.

"Your nephew said that you loved my father, that you fell in love before he was to wed my mother."

Jyana turned towards her husband, who smiled at her and leaned to kiss the top of her head.

"I did, long ago, when I was somebody else."

"Are you Jon's mother?" Arya threw the question out, like a well-aimed dagger.

Jyana exhaled deeply. 

"I remember your brother as a babe. I held him in my arms, a little thing with the look of the North. Your father was relieved that he looked like he did. It would have been hard to explain if he didn't, but his eyes were light grey, as many babes do. We worried they'd turn purple."

"Why did you let him take him away? Didn't you love him?"

"I would have loved your brother if I had had the chance, but he was not mine to mother."

Jyana seemed to be looking down at the past, and the moonlight let them know that there were tears in her eyes.

"I loved your father, long before he married your mother, before even when she was betrothed to your uncle Brandon. Only the gods know what life would have been like if things had been different. But no, I did not birth your brother."

Arya let out the breath that had become painful in her chest. 

"Do you know who his mother is then?"

"I know who bore him," Howland answered. "Aye. I met her, though when I made my way up to the Tower of Joy, she was already dead, I had to pry her hand out from your father's. He held her so tight, not letting her go. On his other hand, he had your brother."

"The Tower of Joy? Not Starfall?"

"We went there to rescue your aunt Lyanna. When she died, and your father finally calmed down, we looked at the babe. He had a tuft of dark hair, the same long face of the Starks, and grey eyes. Your father let out a sad laugh, and he thanked the old gods Lyanna had birthed a wolf and not a silver-haired dragon."

"Are you saying that, Jon…"

"Aye," Howland continued. "Your father named him Jon, after Jon Arryn, and told everyone he had his blood. Everyone believed that he was his bastard, but your father never failed the promises he made your mother. No matter who his heart had belonged to before."

"Aunt Lyanna was Jon's mother?"

"Yes. Your brother is the bastard son of Rhaegar Targaryen."

"We were only told that he stole her and that by the time my father arrived to rescue her, she was dead. We were never told he got his child on her."

"Your aunt was wild and lively, and she was my friend," Howland smiled when talking of Lyanna, and then he had to brush away the sudden tears in his eyes.

"I owed her much, I met her when I was a short frogeater boy, bullied by others. I swore I would keep her secret, but everyone is dead now, Lyanna, Ned, Raeghar, and Robert. I saw you come here from afar, and as you got close, I thought I was seeing a ghost. You look exactly like her. And then I was told you married Robert's son, who looks just like him," he said, looking at Gendry. "It was as if the gods wanted to mock us."

Arya couldn't stop the tears falling from her eyes. Who was she crying for? For Jon? Because he had to pay for her father straying from his marriage vows? For her mother, who had been jealous of a ghost all her marriage, and taken it out on Jon? For her father, who kept a promise that brought him only sorrow? Or for her aunt Lyanna, the woman she never knew, but her father insisted she looked like? A girl younger than she was then, who died on her birthing bed far away from her home, and with little less than a glance at her son?

"I knew my father went to Dorne to get my aunt Lyanna, and that only two men came back you and him. He said that if it wasn't for you, he'd never have survived facing the Sword of the Morning," Arya took a moment, and then she faced Jyana. "That he went to Starfall to give back your family's sword."

"Yes, he did arrive at Starfall with Dawn, but still in my brother's hand."

"You mean that your brother didn't die?" Gendry asked.

"He had been ready for it. He was a kingsguard, and Rhaegar was his best friend. Ned would have killed him or die by his sword. There was no way around it if it hadn't been for Howland."

"I didn't do much, love," he replied to his wife. "I just tried to get him to see reason, Ned didn't want anything but to save his sister. Arthur was not convinced, but right then, Lyanna cried. It was a wail like I had never heard before in my life. One I have not heard since. Arthur fell on his knees. It was then that I knew it, he loved her. Ned took advantage of the moment to go to Lyanna's side."

"But he was a kingsguard," Gendry pointed out, confused by the revelation of his feelings for Arya's aunt. "And she carried his prince's child."

"Aye, he was, and she did. But he still loved her," Howland replied.

"Rhaegar fell in love with her, and he tasked Arthur to protect her and their babe, and he went to war. Arthur fell in love with your aunt, he would have given his life gladly for her," Jyana took a deep breath, and then continued, "The man that came to Starfall was just a shadow of who my brother had once been. It broke my heart, even more than it was already broken."

Howland embraced his wife then, letting her head fall on his shoulder. 

"It was hard to see your father again, knowing nothing else could be in between us."

"Your nephew, Ned, he told me you died."

"That I jumped from the Palestone Sword Tower?"

"Yes."

"Yes. A star fell, but it wasn't me."

"Your brother?"

Jyanna nodded as tears rolled down her violet eyes. 

"It was a sennight after they returned from the Tower of Joy. He blamed himself. He was there, at Harrenhal when Rhaegar fell in love with Lyanna, and he was there to help Rhaegar take her away. He couldn't live with the thought that he had survived his king, his best friend, and the love of his life."

"Why does everyone think it was _you_ who jumped?"

"Wouldn't it make a better song? A heartbroken girl who lost her love, the man she loved having wed another, and who killed her brother?"

"Your nephew, Ned, he didn't know this."

"We decided this was better. My older brother, Ned's father, and I. Our sister, Allyria, she was little. She wouldn't remember, and Ned was a babe. Howland asked me to marry him, and I said yes. We rode north with your father, and we stayed here."

Howland took his wife's hand and kissed her knuckles, "And I buried a bright star in the mud."

"Nonsense," she said. "I've been the happiest here. This is my home, and you gave me my children."

Arya wondered for a moment about their children, they had not been introduced to them when they arrived. She feared that the reason was, and chose not to inquire about them. She then thought of something else. 

"My father told my mother Jon was his."

"There was another reason to let the world think that I died. If Jon's eyes turned purple, Ned could say he was mine. We had danced together at Harrenhal, and more than one had seen that we had fallen in love. I let Ashara Dayne die, and I took a name in honor of your aunt, and the babe that could have been mine. I've been Jyana Reed ever since."

"Jon's eyes never changed," Arya added. "They only darkened, grey as dark as slate."

Jyana let out a sad laugh then and spoke, "good."

Nothing else was said, the Reeds showed them the way back to the keep in the dark, both knowing the land enough to know the way without light. When they were inside their chamber, Arya and Gendry disrobed in silence, and they embraced each other under the furs, colder than before, but not just from the weather. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked with his lips on her forehead.

"About finding out that my favorite brother was never my brother at all but my cousin? Or about finding out my father kept the secret his whole life, despite all the sorrow it brought to my mother, and despite how harsh she was to Jon, thinking that he represented the woman that had made my father falter in his wedding vows?" Arya answered, with her lips against his neck.

"Not good then."

"What do I do with all of this?"

"What do you feel for Jon?"

"I love him. He's still my brother."

Gendry's hand came to her chin, and he tilted it, so she could see him when he spoke.

"Then, what changed, really?"

"Nothing," she replied, and then a sob came out that felt like a stab to Gendry's heart. "But why does it hurt so?"

Gendry held her in his arms, and he let Arya bury her face in his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.

"You should go to sleep. Tomorrow you can deal with all of this."

"Gendry?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let go of me."

Gendry didn't know exactly what she meant, as his arms were around her, and he knew they'd stay like that as they slept. He chose to believe that they meant more, more than that night, or the campaign north. Still, he held her tight, as Arya burrowed under his chin, and cried herself to sleep, with her tears on his neck. He kissed her hair, and he fell asleep to the woodsy smell of her hair.

* * *

After the morning meal, there was a council meeting where Howland Reed agreed to support their cause, declaring that the Neck was a Northern region and that it recognized only a real Stark at the seat of Winterfell. Alester Florent inquired if any ravens had come from White Harbor, only to be informed that no ravens can reach Greywater Watch, as the keep never stayed in one place. Ser Davos could see the worry in his king's eyes, despite his stoicism, and he knew that he worried about his daughter. It was decided then that a raven for White Harbor would be released, to let their people and Lord Manderly know that they were at the Neck and that they would be planning the strategy to take Moat Cailin, which was to be a tough task.

"Before an attack can happen, we must take one of the towers," Lord Reed explained. "The Children's Tower, the southeast one. We know of hidden paths, and my trackers have been able to reach it without being seen. We know it is the one with the least number of guards. We must take it without the other two knowing a few days before the attack. And have our men pose as Bolton men, so the rest don't suspect a thing."

"Can it be done?" Ser Davos inquired.

"We've been scouting it for several moons without being noticed. This was already our plan."

"Will that be enough?" Arya asked.

"No, but it will change the task from impossible to just incredibly difficult. Moat Cailin cannot be taken from the south, or at least _not just_ from the south. We must attack from all flanks. If we hold one tower, and we attack from the west as well, coming on the Fever River, and if your men come from the north, it could be enough distraction for the archers, so your host can come from the causeway, and we can take it. It will need careful planning, and the gods on our side."

"The _only_ god is on our side," Melisandre intervened, making Lord Reed's eyebrows rise high on his forehead, but he didn't argue with the red woman, keeping his own beliefs to himself.

"Let's start planning then," Stannis said, dismissing the war council afterward.

* * *

After the council, Arya and Gendry left the keep, and they had walked away, towards the same place where they had talked with the Reeds the night before. Gendry had walked behind her, remembering how they had taken the same trek the previous night, with their hands intertwined. It was quite a contrast to how Arya had been quiet and distant since the moment they had woken that morning.

At first, after breaking their fast, Gendry had wondered if the strange foods had not agreed with him, for the way his belly felt sour, but soon enough, he recognized the tell-tale signs of his foul mood. When they reached the area that seemed protected by the canopy of weirwoods, Arya paced around, touching the trunks of the trees, until she found one that had made her feel something, and she leaned her forehead against it.

"Why are we here?" Gendry asked, making her turn around. "Do you need to reveal secrets now?"

"No, nothing of that sort. I just needed to be away from Stannis and his witch."

Gendry only nodded, but kept his eyes away from hers, and kicked the dirt around.

"Why are you upset?"

"Who says I am upset?"

"I did, _stupid_ , that's why I'm asking."

"Well, nothing is wrong with me!"

"And that's why you have been this quiet since we woke up."

"I am always this quiet."

"You weren't last night. You were quite chatty, talking about what an amazing keep Greywater Watch is."

"Well, if I remember correctly, you were the one who shut me up!"

There it was, the very first mention of their kissing, out in the sun.

Arya seemed hit by the reference, and inhaling deeply, she added, "well, you didn't seem to be put off by that."

Gendry laughed at her words, but Arya knew that laughter, and it wasn't a happy one.

"No, _m' lady_. I did not mind it at all."

It had been long since the last time he had used that term for her, but it wasn't lost on Arya.

"Then, why are you so pissed off?"

Gendry shrugged and then spoke, "I don't know, I guess I'm just an idiot, who likes the kissing at night but has a hard time pretending it didn't happen in the morning."

"I'm not _pretending_ it didn't happen!"

"But you never talk about it!"

"Well, _you_ never talk about it either!"

"I get it, it's fine. Everyone needs a bit of comfort some times, but I like kissing you, I do. Alright?! And not just at night for comfort, or because it's cold! I'm sorry if it's not the same for you!"

"I do like kissing you, _stupid_! And it is not just about comfort! And here's something else, I wouldn't mind if you kissed me in the daytime as well."

"You do?"

"Yes! I thought it was quite obvious!"

"Well, not for me!"

"Well, that's because you're stup-"

This time is was Gendry who shut her up with his lips, after reaching her in just two steps. The kiss was not like their previous ones, starting soft and growing. It was rough and demanding, and his hands came to her backside, and he lifted her up, so he didn't have to bend to kiss her. Arya's legs followed his cue, and they wrapped around his waist, and Gendry leaned them both against the tree. They kissed frantically for a while until they had to part for air, keeping their foreheads together, while both panted trying to catch their breaths. 

"Are your gods going to smite me where I am for kissing you and rubbing myself against you here? If they do, it would be a nice way to go, though it would be quite a shame."

Arya laughed heartedly, prompting him to kiss her some more, but the kiss was sloppy, and they both laughed instead, against each other's mouths.

"No, my gods won't smite you for that. Unless you're making false promises."

"No, they're all promises I am planning to fulfill."

"Are you?" Arya asked, blushing, but with a glint in her eye.

"Ah, I didn't mean…" Gendry stuttered.

"You didn't?"

Licking his bottom lip, he answered, "I did. But what I meant to say was that I have meant _all_ the promises I have made you by a weirwood tree. But, I want to court you _proper_."

Arya raised her eyebrow and said, "You mean to wait until we reach the Wall and ask my brother for my hand in marriage? Because that ship has already sailed."

"No! I mean, I want to take my time with you."

Arya's smile gave Gendry relief, and then her eyes were on his lips, and she kissed him softly, with her hand on the stubble on his jaw. 

Still, with eyes closed, Gendry spoke, against her lips, his voice so low that Arya could barely hear him.

"I won't risk getting you with child, not with what is ahead of us."

Arya pushed him gently until they could see each other clearly.

"I could ask for help, to be careful."

Gendry nodded and caressed her rosy cheek with his thumb.

"I won't put _you_ in danger. You and…"

"Our child?"

Gendry nodded. 

"The red woman," Arya added. "I'll kill her before she hurts _my family_."

"I'll kill her if she hurts _you_."

"We'll be careful."

They kissed for a while before they walked back to the keep hand in hand. The trek took longer with Gendry stopping them to steal another kiss. The moment they made it inside, Ser Davos reached them to let Gendry know his uncle wanted a word, and Arya went looking for the person from who she wanted advice.

* * *

"Jyana? Are you going out?" She asked the lady of Greywater Watch, as she caught her heading out of the keep.

"I am about to go fishing, care to join me?"

"Of course."

Jyana showed Arya outside, to the back of the keep in the shed where they kept skin boats, and other tools and weapons. She grabbed two spears that ended in three metal prongs, and a couple woven baskets with leather straps to hang them across their torsos. 

They walked for a while until they reached the spot Jyana deemed was the right one by a shallow stream, where the water was almost transparent. She walked into the water until it reached just above her knees, and she signaled for Arya to do the same. She waited patiently, with the spear held high, and then, after a while, her hand came down in one swift movement. When she pulled it back up, there was a fish speared at the end of her trident. 

Arya watched her dislodge the fish, put it in the basket at her hip, and resume her position. Arya had seen men and women fish in that fashion before, but she had never done it herself with a three-pronged spear, and she quickly copied Jyana. 

"They call crannogmen _frogeaters_. It is supposed to be a dirty word, but the truth is that it is a delicacy. The Neck may not be beautiful like Dorne or the Reach, but we want for nothing. There are fish and frogs, and the swamps keep us protected," Jyana said after a while. 

"Are we to hunt for frogs today as well?"

"No, I am not quite sure the king has the palate for it."

"I wouldn't mind it, and Gendry is from Flea Bottom, I've never seen him turn his nose up at food."

"Then, we may serve you some during your stay."

"Do you miss Dorne?" Arya asked.

"I miss a life that is no more. If I went back to Dorne now, it would be as foreign as someone else's land. Though I have to say, I do get a craving for Dornish red from time to time."

Arya was silent for a while. Half her life, she had fought to go back home to Winterfell, but Jyana's words made her doubt if getting Winterfell back would be an empty victory.

"Just because that is true for me, it does not mean it has to be true for you. Howland gave me shelter when I lost everything I loved. I'm inclined to believe you have that with your husband as well."

"He's my best friend," Arya confessed. "He was before we married."

"Your cheeks get red when you talk of him."

Arya could feel the heat, and smiling, she nodded.

"We've grown closer."

"You're lucky then. Marriage is not easy. Fondness helps."

"You seem to love your husband."

Jyana stopped her task then, and she put the spear down and leaned into it.

"I do. I was heartbroken when we met. Twice over. Howland told me he remembered me from Harrenhal, he could tell me every one of the young men with whom I danced there, but I have to admit I never noticed him back then. The night Arthur died, I went to his chamber, and I gave him my maidenhead. By the morning, he proposed to me. He was so ashamed of having dishonored me. I didn't care."

"You still married him."

"I did. I couldn't have known back then, but I conceived my daughter that night. We married with only my older brother and your father present, at Starfall, and then when we came here, in front of the weirwoods, my belly already round with Meera."

"Last night, you mentioned children, where are they?"

"We have two, Meera and Jojen. Meera came out all crannog-looking, she was all Howland when she was born, and not at all like me. Her hair is dark, you could say that it resembles mine, but it's not black. Jojen, my son, looked like his sister and father, but when he opened his eyes for the first time, they were the same color as mine. It was as getting a little bit of Starfall back. I almost lost him, though. I guess he got a bit more of my blood, and he got greywater fever, as I did after Meera was born, but my Jojen was so little when it happened to him. He nearly died. After that, his eyes changed. They turned the greenest I've ever seen."

"Where are they?" Arya asked again, worried that Jyana had not answered her question.

"They went north, over five years ago, to Winterfell. Jojen has the greensight, he knew they had to go there, and we had to trust him. We haven't heard from them since."

"If they went to Winterfell when my younger brothers were there…" Arya said, but she was unable to finish her sentence.

Jyana held her wrist then, making Arya look at her.

"You must trust. Jojen told us you'd come."

"Me?"

"A she-wolf will walk south alone, and then north with a direwolf and a stag, he said," Jyana explained.

Arya knew she had to ask a lot more, but for that moment, it was enough.

"Can I trust your confidence?" Arya asked, turning the conversation to the reason that had moved her to seek Jyana out. 

"What you speak here will not leave this place, nor will it be repeated by me."

"Thank you. I was wondering if you'd have the herbs needed for moon tea or something similar."

"Are you with child?"

"No. I am _certain_ I am not."

"I'm only asking because there are two different things moon tea can be used: to prevent the seed from quickening or to rid the body when it has already caught."

"I wish to prevent a child from coming to be. I hope it is not forward of me to ask for your help."

"I am Dornish by birth, after all. Your question does not shock me."

"Thank you."

"Do you not desire to bear children for your husband?"

"It's not that," Arya said, and while she didn't respond to her question, a voice in her head wondered if she knew the answer. "We are going into battle. It is not the right time."

"Does your husband share your feelings? I believe one should be in charge of one's body, but I'm asking to know if this could cause you troubles in the future."

"After our bedding, he worried, he beat himself up for spilling inside me. He doesn't want me to be in the middle of battle carrying a babe. And there is something else, the king's red priestess, she keeps talking about the magic in the blood of a child of ours. We cannot risk it."

Something in Jyana's eyes let Arya know that she understood.

"What do you do now to prevent it?"

"We haven't… since then."

"And you'd like to," she replied with a smile.

"I'd like to do whatever I can do to make sure we don't have that worry."

"Have you taken moon tea before?"

"No, I know of it, and I have a vague idea of what herbs are used for it. I lived in Braavos before, and I was handmaiden for a courtesan. There, courtesans and women that do not desire to bear a child put in a special concoction _inside_. I wouldn't know where to get the ingredients."

"Crannogwomen use their own mix of herbs to make an infusion that should be drunk. It is similar to moon tea. I could get you the ingredients and instruct you on how to take it. I don't know what they do in the North, but I know that south of the Neck maesters instruct women to drink it after every coupling. Here, we believe you should drink it daily, and stop it as you are to get your moonblood and start again five days later."

"Thank you."

"It is not infallible, you must know this. Even if he pulls out before spilling. How many children did your mother have?"

"Five, counting me."

"And his father had many more, from what we know. Baratheons are known for their fertility, though it's not just about the seed, but the soil as well. Even if the seed is good, it will not grow in thorny and dry soil."

"That explains why the king has only had one living child," Arya commented. 

"But knowing your mother bore five healthy children, you should be careful. I suggest you start drinking the tea right away and don't expect it to work until a full moon turn has gone by and you have not missed one day. In the meantime, there are _other things_ you can do, do you know what I mean?"

Arya felt her cheeks heating up, but still, she replied, "I do, it is hard not to know when you are employed by a courtesan."

"Good," Jyana responded, with a grin. "Something tells me you both will find the way to be creative."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on my tinfoil theory?
> 
> And what about *all the things* that happened under the protection of the weirwood trees?
> 
> PS. I just wanted to say that the AD at the Neck theory is not mine, but I've been enthralled by it since I first read about it on reddit.
> 
> Here I just wrote my take on it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the plans are completed for the battle for Moat Cailin. There is nothing else to do but pray for the many gods to favor them. 
> 
> "Don't you dare die," she said as if she could hear his thoughts, with her face buried in his chest, pulling him away from his prayers.  
> It made Gendry a bit smug, but mostly, it softened something inside in a way he had never felt before.  
> "Same for you, my lady," he replied, and it was not lost on his wife the way he had made sure to enunciate both words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for the readers who love to analyze the chapter and share their theories with me. Thank you guys!
> 
> This one took me longer than usual, but I have to say that I fell quite proud of how it came out. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

[ ](https://imgur.com/CY5iY8A)

Gendry's fingers painted an imaginary line down Arya's pale back, paler even under the moonlight. The journey had started at her nape, against the brown hair, and down her neck. His finger parted the sea of her lean but strong shoulder blades, and down, barely touching the large dark freckle on her lower back. He liked how his fingers slid down, where her torso narrowed at her waist and how the line ended, after crossing in between the dimples above her arse. 

Before, he would have feared to let his hand continue advancing, to set on her behind, as it did now, over the linen of her smallclothes. It was different now that they had come clean among the weirwood trees, and they had spent less than a handful of days kissing and touching both at night and out in the sun. 

Earlier that night, they had been around a fire with the Brotherhood, with Aymar, the lute player, going over his repertoire of popular songs, to the enjoyment of their band of brothers, and their own embarrassment. 

"Play _The Stag that Tamed the Wolf!_ " Lem called after taking a swig from the skin of ale and passing it around. 

Aymar knew his audience, and he was aware the soldiers, both green and grey would soon grow tired of the same lyrics, so he kept them all excited by adding new verses here and there. That night was not the exception, and three new stanzas were sung to the cheers of all their old companions. The song that initially talked about how the Baratheon stag had tamed the Stark wolf, now detailed how the surly young Baratheon had fallen for his wife.

_Though the younger stag may look meek,_

_it's not because he's weak._

_No need for words, when he can speak_

_with mighty hammer swings._

_Still, his fury will always yield_

_before his wild she-wolf._

_She'll make him stutter and then reel_

_just like a newborn fawn._

_And yet, you'll see, the blacksmith lord_

_Enchants his lady wolf_

_with stolen kisses and a sword_

_she'll sheath for him with love._

The crowd roared with laughter, and Gendry let his head hang in between his bent knees. He felt Arya's body shift next to him, and then stand up.

"If you're just going to be this stupid, I'm heading to bed," Arya yelled at the men.

"Come on, _sweetheart_! It's just in jest. We're just messing with young Gendry here, we now you can _take_ it," Lem said, and the rest snickered at the double meaning.

Thoros chimed in then, "It's just fun to see him blush like a flowering maid as if we haven't noticed how he pulls you into dark corners to kiss you."

That last line had made Gendry lift his head to see Arya's eyes lower, as he knew to happen whenever something made her doubt herself.

He stood up swiftly and pulled her by the waist, joining their lips in a passionate kiss, despite the uproar of the men. When they parted, he smiled softly, and he was relieved to see Arya's eyes sparkle once more. 

He then turned back and yelled at the Brotherhood, "I can kiss my wife whenever godsdamn I want, as long as she'll have me. Grow up, you lot."

And with that, he walked towards the keep, pulling Arya by the hand.

* * *

They made it to their chambers alone, as Nymeria had stayed out to hunt in the Neck for the first time since they had arrived. Gendry suspected she would be filling her belly that night with lizard-lion, and he wondered momentarily if it was a bad thing to do when it was the sigil of their hosts.

They took their time kissing, as they had the previous night. Arya had given up on wearing a nightshirt to bed, not because it was warm, but because since their first night after they had stopped hiding their mutual desire, Gendry's hands always found their way under it.

They hadn't had done much more than kissing and touching. His fingers had gotten more than acquainted with her breasts. He craved to taste them again, as he had the night of their wedding, but there was something good about taking their time, something torturous and yet so enjoyable. 

The coming battle loomed ahead, like the shadow that prowls in the corner of your eye, waiting for the right time to pounce, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Gendry liked living in the present, even if it lasted just a moment, with the promise of sharing each other, but more than anything, equally satisfying.

As long as he could dream and suffer, wanting to take her without restraints, with her plump lips making sounds that reassured him that she took her pleasure in his body, it meant that there would be a future. He liked that dream of a future that was both close enough to feel that he could reach it, but still afar, to convince them both that they had to survive the war.

Gendry also believed that if he kept her in that wanting stage, going so painfully slow, he'd get a chance to improve, to stop his greenness from leaving her wanting and sore, as their first time. His thoughts continued, while his left hand continued worshiping the expanse of her back, and he leaned in to kiss the crook of her neck. That did something. She had been peaceful so far as if she had left the shell of her body behind.

The slight scrape of his teeth on the tender skin prompted a growl from his sleeping wife, a sound close to a hungry wail, that emboldened Gendry's right hand to travel to her front and cup her breast, squeezing her teat and brushing the rapidly puckering nipple with the rough pad of his thumb.

It made Arya turn, and search for his lips with half-lidded eyes. One of her legs finding its place in between his and the other one wrapping itself around his hip. She crossed the gap remaining between them, getting their chests to join, and her arms wrapped around his neck.

Gendry felt the sweet torment of the peaks of her teats digging in his chest, and his coarse hair there surely tickling and teasing her, for the way she was moving against him.

"Where were you?" He asked, half exhaling against her mouth.

"I've been here, in your arms."

"Your body was here, but you were not," the low timbre of his voice made her shudder, just as much as his words finished waking her.

Arya didn't reply and instead continued kissing him, playing the game of exploring each other, in a quest as long and slow as taking back the North. Gaining only a little more ground each night.

Arya had yet to tell him she'd started drinking the tea that Jyana had prepared for her. It was a bit cruel when she knew it was only one complete moonturn all they had to wait until they could give in to their desire.

Gendry feared getting her with child, but Arya could also sense something else looming and weighing his thoughts. She liked that there were still things not said between them, promises that up the ante to survive the impossible, and reap victory in each other's bodies.

Mayhaps it was that she had not responded to his question what prompted Gendry to dip his head and capture a taut nipple in his mouth. His teeth played with it, a bit rough but careful not to hurt. Arya felt her back arch, eager to feed more of her breast into his mouth. Opening her eyes, she saw the freckled skin of his broad shoulders bared to her. The _other one,_ inside of her, brought her teeth to it, biting hard, just enough to give her tongue the taste of blood.

When she tasted him in her mouth, Arya feared he'd push her away, but instead, he groaned and pull her back to him, so tight that she could feel his desire hard against her belly. Instead of rubbing himself against her, he kept them both embracing tightly until their heartbeats calmed down and eventually fell asleep intertwined.

* * *

Ser Davos had already released the second raven since they arrived at Greywater Watch. The first one had been sent to White Harbor announcing their arrival, and the second one to let them know what the plan was so far. Gendry could see the worry in Ser Davos' eyes. Still, he tried to keep his hopes up for the ravens would find their people safe and sound, and they'd be able to do their part and meet them at the right time in the battle to come. 

Gendry felt the tug in his chest, thinking of Shireen and how his cousin found the way to crawl into his heart. Just like Davos, he'd have to trust. It didn't help that Greywater Watch did not have a smithy. His hands tingled, itching for fires and banging steel, to get the nagging thoughts away. He did the closest thing, and he helped crannogmen chop wood. Arya had gone with the trackers, to surveil the Children's Tower. The leader of their group was a woman, shorter than her. Krea had instructed Arya to cover herself head to toe in mud. Gendry had wanted to come along, but there was a reason why the trackers were lean and small in stature. Once they made the trek to be close enough to the tower, they'd have to crawl, weasel themselves behind roots, and in ditches, and stay still for hours. 

She had been gone for two whole days, but when she made her way back, he'd held her tight and kissed her so passionately that by the time they parted, his face was caked in mud. 

There were no lavish copper tubs at Greywater Watch, but they were given a large pot that they used to heat water in the hearth in their chamber. When it was hot enough, they had disrobed to their smallclothes, and with soft pieces of cloth, they had cleaned each other. Arya was the most soiled of the two of them, and Gendry took his time. He had made her sit on a chair and placed a basin in front of her, where she could tilt her head forward, so he could pour water on her hair and wash it clean. 

When they were finally clean, and they changed to fresh smallclothes, they had climbed to bed and had a small war council of their own. 

"How bad was it?" Gendry asked.

"It's remarkable how much energy takes to stay still," she replied, wrapping her arms behind his neck.

"That's your way of telling me I wouldn't have made it, isn't it?"

Arya only grinned, and she gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

"We could have taken the tower, they didn't know we were there."

"I'm glad you didn't, though. I would have felt left out."

"How bad was it here?"

"Well, let's see," he said, taking a moment to steal a kiss, only to continue when he pulled back. "I only made Stannis leave in a huff twice, so quite boring."

"I could have sworn I'd come back to you having built yourself a smithy."

"I was tempted, but I reckon Lord Reed wouldn't have appreciated the risk I'd burn down the keep."

"Well, I'm here now."

He kissed her hard then, but not in the way she had grown used to, with their shared desire to join fully as a man and woman. Instead, it was a closed lips kiss, that had their faces pressed hard against each other as if he wanted to merge with her. 

Gendry pulled back and ran his thumb over her lower lip and took his time to study every inch of her face. 

"When will we march?"

"We are to have a war council tomorrow, after breaking fast. The trackers that have stayed by the tower in the last fortnight told us that the guards that make the rounds between the towers every sennight just left the Children's Tower. We can't stay for more than two more days."

Gendry nodded. 

"You have nothing to say?"

"No, we'll march together, and we're not to part again. I'm glad for that."

* * *

The next day the table was clear of the food and the leather maps laid down.

Stannis open the war council with a question, "What's the word of your trackers, Lord Reed?"

"My trackers have been surveilling the tower for a couple of fortnights. A new group went there three days ago to relieve the previous one, and they are ready to infiltrate the tower as soon as we send our sign. But your good niece was there, she can let us know what she has learned," Howland replied, looking towards Arya.

"The sentries that do the rounds between the towers were at the Children's one two days ago. They won't return for a sennight. We are to march soon. The crannogmen and women will take the tower when we send our signal, and a day later, we will strike from all flanks."

"It must be stressed, your grace," Howland added, "the only way this plan will work is if the men you sent to White Harbor strike from the north. If they are late to the battle, or worse, if they do not show, we will be doomed."

"Would we be risking our men coming from the causeway? Their archers could annihilate our entire troops," Ser Alester Florent asked.

"We must trust your brother and the rest of our men, Ser Alester," Ser Davos spoke. 

"If the crannogmen take the southeast flank, and the men from White Harbor take the north, what of the rest?" Stannis asked.

"Archers must come from the west, from the Fever River."

"They will be vulnerable."

"Not if they wear armor, and a shield wall is formed."

"I will march with the archers," Arya informed them.

"We will march with the archers," Gendry added. 

"You will be going against the Drunkard's Tower. My men will cover you, from the Children's Tower, but arrows will still rain on you."

"My men, the Brotherhood, they will be with us."

"What of the rest of our men."

"Once the second tower is taken, the rest of your men must come over the causeway. You must have your men on horses surround Moat Cailin."

"Why would we have our men on the causeway if it is the most vulnerable flank?" Ser Alester asked.

"Because it is the only ground dry enough for your horses."

"Lady Melisandre, what do the nightfires show?"

"I have been lighting the fires every night. There is no doubt, the Lord of Light shows the battle, the omens are all in our favor."

Gendry intervened, "Thoros, the red priest of the Brotherhood, has been looking in the flames as well, he sees himself climbing a tower and taking it."

"Very well then, we must march tomorrow at dawn," King Stannis announced. "Ser Davos, you must release the last raven. May R'hllor guide it, and ensure our men and Lord Manderly will be ready."

* * *

As they were to leave Greywater Watch, and after Arya and Gendry had the time to thank Lady Reed, not knowing if they'd see her again, they were privy to Howland saying goodbye to his wife. 

After embracing her for a long time, while Arya and Gendry were sure they whispered things in each other's ears, Howland spoke, "The Neck is yours, my love."

"Don't even say that! I should be going with you, you know I can fight!"

Howland shook his head and said, "You know you must stay, and it's not because you cannot fight, I know Arthur taught you well."

"If anything happens to you…"

"It won't, it's not my time yet, Jojen told me."

"Did he tell you it is mine, and this is why I must stay?"

"It is not, my love. I promise."

"I cannot bear being left alone, first Meera and Jojen, and now you."

"You have to trust, we'll all come back to you. I promise."

He kissed her then, and Arya and Gendry turned away to give them more privacy.

"Don't even think about asking me to stay behind."

Gendry huffed and replied, "Wouldn't dream of it. If anything, you are more likely to go off and do something extremely dangerous without me knowing."

Arya's fingers searched for his hand, and looking towards the path they were to take, she said, "no more of that, we do things together from now on."

She didn't turn to see his reaction but felt his hand squeeze hers. 

* * *

It took them a whole day to trek north until they reached the Fever River. It wasn't as much the distance, but the hazardous terrain. They had walked, carrying their weapons and gear, and then ridden skin boats. It wasn't easy, as the boats were narrow, and they needed enough for all the men that were to attack from the west flank, along with Arya, Gendry, and the Brotherhood.

Once they joined the stream of the river, they made sure to wait until dusk to start their way towards Moat Cailin. The plan was to attack under the veil of night, to diminish the visibility the archers on the other two towers would have. Navigating in the dark was not easy, and Gendry felt blind. But the crannogmen seemed to have developed night vision, always hidden, under thick vegetation and fog, covered in mud and moss to conceal themselves. 

When they reached the headwaters of the Fever, the stars were already out, and they knew that Moat Cailin was less than ten miles away, even if they couldn't see the towers yet. They finished strapping on their armor, readying their weapons and shields, and then they advanced on foot, as close as they could get without risking being seen. 

They were to wait patiently for the signal that would come from the east of the Children's Tower when a small group of crannog trackers would release a lit arrow to signal to all their hosts the start of the attack. It was meant to trick the soldiers on the Gatehouse and Drunkard's Towers away from the west and south attacks. If the gods were on their side, Howland's men would already be in command of the Children's Tower and passing as Bolton men. 

When their guide let them know that the signal should be released soon, Arya turned to Gendry, and her hand searched for him in the dark. It was almost pitch black, and he couldn't make out her features clearly, but he could sense her in front of him. He drew her close, and his free hand climbed up her arm until it reached her shoulder and neck, and then, very carefully, he let his fingers cradle her jaw. His thumb drew circles on her skin, attempting to memorize its softness. He spoke silently to the gods: the Seven, and the old gods of the North who had given him Arya as a wife. He prayed to the wretched red god and to the god of death, the one Arya would often mention. He even had a passing thought of the black goat god Tobho used to pray to. He pleaded to all of them to keep her alive, even at the cost of his life.

"Don't you dare die," she said as if she could hear his thoughts, with her face buried in his chest, pulling him away from his prayers.

It made Gendry a bit smug, but mostly, it softened something inside in a way he had never felt before. 

"Same for you, _my_ lady," he replied, and it was not lost on his wife the way he had made sure to enunciate both words.

Arya looked up then, and Gendry brought their foreheads together. They stood like that for a few moments that felt as long as years, and they tried to say the thing that they were still not ready to express in words. 

After a quick, tight kiss, Gendry let her go. He brushed her hair back, before placing her helm on her head, and closed the visor with reverence, before donning his own, waiting for the night sky lit with a flaming arrow, almost as beautiful as a shooting star.

As they waited, Gendry remembered when he showed Arya the helmets he had made in Riverrun for both of them, and Arya had laughed and then said, "What? No antlers?"

"Why give the enemy something to hold on to?" he asked.

"Your bull helm had horns."

"Short ones," he replied in a huff, and then added, "but yes, that helm was made by a sullen green boy who was desperate to be somebody. That helm was never meant to be worn in battle."

"And now?"

Gendry stared into her eyes and replied, "And now, I know who I am, and it's got nothing to do with the name Stannis gave me."

* * *

When the signal came, they all lifted their shields above their heads and ran in the direction of the Gatehouse Tower. As they approached, they could hear the sound of disjointed steps and yells.

Surely by then, the guards were aware that they were under attack, and they would be directing their attention towards the origin of the sign, and sending down their foot soldiers. Arya and Gendry's army kept advancing until they were close enough to see the torches on the tower be lit up, and flaming arrows were released aimed towards the fire pits to light the battlefield and making their host visible from where they were. It was then that a wave of arrows rained on them from the tower. 

Arya and Gendry ran and lined behind the men that had made a barricade with their shields. Arya was on the second line between the shields in front and the men who held shields behind her line. The men on the back lifted their long shields to cover the men's heads on the two front lines. Arya could feel Gendry's presence behind her, and even if she couldn't see him, she knew it was his shield that covered her head. Gendry fell the push of his shield against this arm, as an arrow landed on it, but he gritted his teeth and kept the cover above their heads.

It was Dennet, on the first line, who looked in between the shield gaps, and yelled that he could see the enemy approaching. Arya barked her command, and Gendry's line pulled back, to let the archers aim and release. 

Arya, along with the other nine and twenty archers, notched their arrows, drew back, and let loose. Their arrows took flight altogether, in the dark, and the cries afterward announced them that some had hit their marks. As soon as Arya's arrow was released, Gendry covered her once more with his shield. The line then advanced, and they were able to repeat the feat two more times until they heard the charging of the remaining foot soldiers coming their way. The line of shields broke then, and Gendry and the men in the back charged ahead. They had chosen this line to be formed of the strongest men, the ones capable of knocking the first wave of soldiers with mighty swings of their swords, or of Gendry's war hammer. Harwin and Thoros had been in the same line, the three of them yelling as they knocked their enemies left and right. The men on the first line ran behind them to deal with the soldiers that escaped Gendry's line.

Arya took a moment to look up, and notice that no more arrows were raining from the Gatehouse Tower, and only the Drunkard's Tower seemed to have any archers left. They were sure to have been surprised when their men on the Children's Tower turned on them. A crannogman tracker squad was tasked to advance from tower to tower, disappearing into the mud and stone, surprising their enemy and infiltrating them. 

Arya thanked the gods for what looked like a step towards their victory. This was the moment they were to send the signal to Stannis and the men hidden in the causeway. She notched a special arrow, as five other archers did as well, and the rest helped light them. They aimed towards the sky and released their signal. 

It didn't take long to hear the galloping sounds approaching, and as she turned and saw Stannis atop his horse, with Ser Davos and Ser Alester riding along, Arya dropped her bow, and brought her hand to her hip, making a fist around Fang's pommel. 

* * *

Arya ran ahead in the same direction as Gendry had done before, and when she encountered the melee, she tried to see where he was. It wasn't an easy task, as she had to keep her attention on her enemies. In wasn't until Arya had faced and killed three Bolton soldiers, that she finally saw him, ahead and slightly to her left, swinging his hammer hard and caving the head of his opponent in one precise movement. She exhaled in relief and continued facing the enemy. Ahead of her, she could see Harwin, fighting two soldiers at once, and further ahead from them, Thoros, disappearing at the entrance to the tower. 

Arya continued dodging the attacks of her enemies, thankful for her quick reflexes. This battle was very different than the one of Riverrun, when she had been able to use her faceless man training, of infiltration and precise attack. This one was pure chaos and instinct. She could feel the heat of her panting breaths under the helm, hating its constriction. She had worn her armor during the progress from the Riverlands to the Neck, and while she had had time to get used to it, this was the first time she had worn a helm. Despite how unnatural it felt to fight with it, she was thankful for how it had already protected her from blows and grazes.

The slit in the visor reduced her visibility, and when she turned to her left, looking for Gendry, she couldn't see him anymore, and her heartbeat sped up with concern. Her movements were suddenly sloppy, but she still held her own in the bout with her current opponent. Arya felt No One taking over, hiding her fears somewhere deep, as she had once hidden Needle. Her sword hand became precise once more, and with a lunge forward, she felt it pierce and embed itself into the soft flesh of the man's throat. The soldier spluttered blood, adding to the adornment of mud and guts of her armor, and then he fell backward.

Arya ran forward, gaining more ground, and she looked around. More foot soldiers had replaced the falling ones. It worried her that there seem to be more Bolton men that the ones her tracking group had observed days before, and she knew Roose Bolton had to have been informed they were coming, as more men had clearly been sent to reinforce the Moat. There was no time to dwell on that realization. Instead, she continued fighting, noticing their riders coming in and engaging in the battle, as well as Nymeria, shredding men to pieces with her teeth.

One of theirs fell on her back, making her stagger when his weight hit her. A sword, hit her on the shoulder then, with a loud clang. She felt the might of the blow on the steel of her pauldron, knowing full well she would ache in the morning from it, _'if I wake tomorrow,'_ she reminded herself. The blade had not sliced her, thankfully, and she thanked silently for Gendry's skill, once more, filling with dread not being able to see him. 

Arya swung her Fang again, deflecting her opponent's attack, and thrust forward with all her might. As she held the grip two-handedly, she felt her blade pierce cleanly through the chain mail the man was wearing. The way his yelp immediately muffled let her know she had pierced his lung. He fell backward, and Arya placed her boot on his chest to gain purchase to pull Fang free. 

When she looked ahead, she saw Gendry yards away from her. He was swinging his hammer, and she didn't miss how it made contact with a face. When the man fell, there was nothing left but bloody mangled flesh where his nose and mouth used to be. It was then that Arya saw the soldier behind Gendry, his arm already going backward. 

She couldn't reach him on time.

Arya grasped the small dagger strapped to her leg. There was not enough time to aim accurately, so she did her best and threw the knife. The moment the blade left her hand, she sprinted, but thankfully, her hand was steady, and the dagger got the man in the neck cleanly. The sound of his sword falling made Gendry turn to see him, and then search from where the knife had come. 

When he saw her running towards him, he did the same. 

They crashed into each other, quickly, palming their bodies, looking for wounds.

"Are you hurt?" Arya asked.

"No. You?"

"No."

Gendry wrapped his arms around Arya, as he could with the hindrance of their armor, and after a quick peck to her lips, he said, "Thank you." There was no time for more because once they let each other go, Gendry looked over her shoulder and yelled, "Duck!" 

He then swung his hammer above her head, knocking another man down. 

* * *

A yell and the following loud thud got everyone's attention. It had been a body aflame that had fallen from the nearest tower. Gendry and Arya could see that the tower had been taken by fire, and they knew no one left there could be alive. 

When they ran towards the body, there was not much to recognize through the flames, but the remnants of his cloak, one that long before their time must have been bright red, but they had only known as pink.

There was no time for mourning, for they were suddenly swarmed with more men, both on foot and riding, wearing sigils of the Bolton flayed man, the black horse of House Ryswell and the crossed long axes of House Dustin. They resumed the battle, but it was clear the scales had begun to turn against them. Gendry shared a look with Arya, and then they turned back to the riders coming their way. Gendry held his hammer up and got ready. As a rider reached where he was standing, he knocked him clean off his saddle and finished him on the ground. Arya knocked a man unconscious, but not before he had hit her hard with the grip of his sword in the head. It took her a moment to get her bearings back, but looking towards the east, she was able to see Howland Reed, surrounded by soldiers, doing his best to keep them at bay, but it was clear he was on the losing end. 

"Arya! Here!" Gendry yelled, holding on to the reigns of the horse of the man he had just killed. 

Without thinking twice, she mounted the horse and spurred the beast towards where their host and friend was. She jumped just in time, and landed on the back of one of his attackers, and then turn to skewer another one through the eye. Nymeria took care of two more, allowing Lord Reed to stand up from where he had fallen on his knee.

He only had enough time to nod in a sign of gratitude and continue making his way through their enemy. 

Stannis reached them then, on foot, his visor up, while he fought his way with his sword.

"Where the _fuck_ is Manderly?!"

Arya looked around, and she couldn't see any of the men that had been sent to White Harbor. She continued the fight, and after what felt like hours, they heard new galloping sounds, and new riders joined the battle on every side. The horses were adorned in blue-green banners, and Arya didn't have to look for the Manderly merman to know these were his men. Their enemies stopped their attack for a moment, and they lifted their weapons and cheered loudly, as they had been clearly expecting them. 

Arya turned to see Stannis' eyes sunken even more in his worn face. 

Ser Davos had made his way to where they were and killed a man that was just about to strike Stannis, taking advantage of the drive that had clearly left him. Stannis snapped out of his trance and looked around, searching for Melisandre, and he found her, in the back, moving her hands over a massive fire. At that moment, the king wondered if he had backed the wrong god in the war. 

Despite what anyone else would have thought, at that precise moment, when everything seemed lost, his thoughts were not for the iron throne, which looked more distant than ever, or for anyone else. They were all about his daughter, smiling widely on the side that her beautiful face was not frozen solid. He continued swinging his sword, with the conviction that he would be cut down that day, but at least he'd go down with his daughter's name on his lips. 

The Bolton men had gone back to the attack, but they had seemed to let their guards down in their newly found confidence. It was then when the first of the Manderly riders reached the fight, and he unsheathed his sword and swung, cutting the head through and through of a Bolton soldier. 

The cheering died at once. 

All the Manderly riders started taking down Bolton men, and once more, Stannis and Arya's men seemed to be getting the upper hand. Soon enough, new riders were coming through, and these ones were adorned with the stag and fiery heart.

Arya thanked the Northern gods once more, and returned to the fight with renewed energy, knowing that they had a chance, but not making the same mistake their enemies had made. She couldn't have known how long it took, but when dawn started to break, the last of the men dropped their swords, yielding and pleading for mercy.

* * *

Gendry looked around, finally taking stock of the carnage. He had been hit and grazed a few times, but he couldn't let his body feel anything. He was trying hard to get his breathing to calm down and desperate to find the only thing he really cared about. A few yards away, he saw Arya. Gendry ripped the helm from his head and yelled her name.

Arya heard her name and felt a wave of relief at seeing Gendry running towards her. She took off her own helmet and ran towards him, as well.

When she was close enough, Arya jumped, wrapping her arms and legs around him, and despite his exhaustion and pain, he held on to her, knowing that he would not let her fall. It was then that they kissed with all the pent up fear and passion from the battle.

After a while, Arya pushed off to get back on her feet, and she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders as she could see his armor was painted red.

"You're hurt!"

"I'm fine, it's not my blood," he replied, but as she touched the place between his breastplate and his pauldron, Gendry hissed in pain. 

"You _are_ hurt!"

"Alright, _just_ _some of it_ is my blood!"

Arya unclasped his pauldron and found a small tear on his chain mail, only a graze of a blade on his shoulder. 

Only then they took the time to look at each other, hair plastered against sweaty skin. There were dirt, mud, and blood splattered on their armor, and their cheeks were red with their exertion. Gendry's hand came to her lower back, and he pulled her towards him, and Arya instinctively rose to her tiptoes, and they crashed their lips against each other. 

They stayed there, not moving, not brushing against each other, nor the tip of a tongue begging for entrance. Just lip against lip, and foreheads together, and Arya's hands set on Gendry's jaw. When they parted, they didn't say anything, nor did they feel shy about it, they just embraced it for a while, until people started to move around them.

"Thoros is dead," Arya said, not needing to look. 

"I know," Gendry replied, and held her to him once more. 

Nymeria joined them then, coming in between them, and letting both petted her, smiling with teary eyes, despite the blood and guts and dirt that covered the three of them from head to toe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are your thoughts on the battle?
> 
> I've always said that I hate writing action/battles, but this particular chapter was very exciting to write. I know I'm not an expert, but for me, it is a huge step forward in my writing. 
> 
> These past 12 chapters are what I considered the first part of this fic, and so I foresee twelve more chapters to come. 
> 
> With that, I'm going to take an extra week to get the second part started, as next week is a very hard one for me at work, and I want to give myself an extra week to revise my outline, and catch up a few other things (including replying to your kind messages, thank you all!)
> 
> I look forward reading your thoughts!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Moat Cailin, the group will ride to White Harbor where they will reunite with the queen and princess. 
> 
> Arya and Gendry will finally get quiet time on their own, right before it is revealed that the Northern houses have been playing a game of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to one of my favorite fanartists and friends, Iro (@Sklirotiri), because I love her art, and there is a scene here that is inspired by her sketches.

[ ](https://imgur.com/Ztyavk2)

The air smelled of smoke, blood, and shit. 

Gendry was no stranger to either of those smells, not after Flea Bottom, Harrenhal, and the Brotherhood. They didn't bother him, not when he and Arya had been looking through bodies trying to find survivors and figuring out how many of the fallen were their own. They already knew about Thoros, but soon, they had learned of other deaths: Mudge, Ser Rolland Storm, and Ser Alester Florent, and many others that Gendry didn't really know by name, but whose faces he had come to recognize. 

Surprisingly, young Aymar had survived. He had fallen to his knees in front of Arya, crying, when they had both ran into him. 

"I don't deserve to be alive, I was craven!" the man sobbed.

"You did what you could. I saw you swinging your sword," Arya had said, trying to console him.

"Aye, but I mostly stayed behind."

"You're not a soldier, and yet you chose to follow us and fight," Gendry added.

"I failed you."

"You didn't," Arya replied. "I have a mission for you. I want you to go back to the Riverlands, to the inns, and sing about our victory. Do not tell of our strategy, but tell everyone that Stannis and a Stark took Moat Cailin."

The lute player nodded, and after brushing the tears and snot off of his face, he bowed to Arya and left. 

"Still, you won't have people say your name?" Gendry asked her, referencing what she had commanded Aymar to do.

"No, I'm not Arya Stark. Not yet. Arya Stark is in Winterfell. Let people think of me as no one, a shadow, the very stranger."

"You will _always_ be Arya Stark _to me,_ " Gendry stated, wrapping his arms around her middle.

Arya smiled, and she buried her head on his chest. Gendry let his chin rest on top of her head, and he closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory, despite the stench and the carnage around them. 

"I know," Arya said against his chest, and he was able to feel her voice vibrating inside, digging in his very flesh and bone. "But I won't declare myself until I am in Winterfell, and I take my name and my home back."

The sound of yelling and heavy footfalls pulled them from their tender moment. Both opened their eyes to see Stannis walking briskly by them and howling to someone ahead.

"Where the fuck were you?!"

Stannis' fury was directed to a hefty bearded man, dressed in rich blue-green velvet clothing emblazoned with the Manderly merman.

"You never replied to our ravens! Where is my daughter?!"

"Your daughter is safe and sound at White Harbor, with my own granddaughters to keep her company. As your wife is as well, in case you were wondering, _your grace_ ," the man replied, apparently unperturbed by the king's demeanor. 

Stannis seemed to calm a bit when he heard about Shireen, as were Arya and Gendry. Even if they hadn't been properly introduced, it was clear that the large man was Lord Wyman Manderly.

"Why didn't we get any ravens from our people if they arrived safely to White Harbor?" Ser Davos inquired, in much a more calm way.

"Your grace," Lord Manderly said, "I couldn't allow any ravens to be sent simply because I had to make sure Roose Bolton did not learn of your plans or mine. I must say, it was fortunate that _your_ goals lined up with mine because if it had been down to your wife's uncle, Ser Axell, there is no way in seven hells that he would have convinced me to support your cause. I have been far deep for too long to let your ambition undo what the North has been working for. I had to continue playing both sides."

"And what tells me you are not doing that right now? Still playing the two sides."

"You are alive, are you not? And I am here, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm _too bloody fat_ to sit a horse, and yet, I rode to my great discomfort. And that destrier I sat is probably already lame after carrying my big gut, no matter for how short of a while."

"Are you loyal to the Starks?" Arya asked, making the man pay attention to her.

"I am. House Manderly will always be loyal to House Stark, which means, I am loyal to you, my lady, as I believe you are one."

Arya eyed him carefully, and after a while, she replied, "I am Arya Stark, _the real one._ "

"The North remembers," Manderly said and then added. "My men made sure to intercept the rider fleeing towards Winterfell to inform Roose of what happened here. I believe it of the utmost importance that we keep this to ourselves for as long as possible."

"My men made themselves pass as Bolton men before," Howland Reed said, intervening. They can do that again."

"Good, you must take some of the prisoners with you, Lord Reed, I presume."

Howland nodded in return.

"Once things are settled here, we must journey to White Harbor, where your wife and daughter are awaiting you. There is much to discuss, but first, we must deal with the dead."

* * *

It took a long time to gather all the surviving Bolton men who had yielded and chain them together. They were to be split and taken down to the Neck with Lord Reed, and north to White Harbor, to be imprisoned in the Wolf's Den. On top of that, they had to dispose of the dead, and those tasks took a whole day. 

Once things were dealt with, it was decided that they were to continue towards White Harbor, while Howland Reed would go back to Greywater Watch. Before Howland was to leave, Arya sought him out to share private words.

"I wanted to thank you for your help."

"It was my pleasure, but more than that, my duty."

"There is something I hadn't had a chance to ask you about. I don't want to part ways before I've had a chance to talk to you about it."

"Of course."

"Lord Jason Mallister, from Seagard. He told me that my brother Robb asked him to send Lord Galbart Glover and Lady Maege Mormont on ships through the Neck, trying to find Greywater Watch. They were to ask you for help."

Howland Reed nodded, and taking a long sigh, he replied, "They crossed the Neck, but they never found the Watch."

"How can you be so sure?"

Howland looked down, and after brushing his face of mud and blood, he looked up and replied, "My men observed them, but we did not disclose ourselves. We made sure they had safe passage to the North, but that was all."

"Why didn't you show yourselves?"

"My Jojen, he left instructions of signs we had to look for, and what we were to do, or not do. He told me we were to stay put unless a Stark wolf came north flanked by a direwolf. At first, I thought it was your brother I was to wait for. It wasn't until word of the treason at the Twins reached us that I knew it wasn't him I was supposed to wait for."

Arya felt hot tears in her eyes at the implication of Howland waiting for the signs his greenseer son had told him to look for. 

"I'll go my grave with that guilt."

Arya cleared her throat loudly, and then spoke, "There is no point to waste time on what could have been, but there is something I can ask of you."

"Name it, House Reed and the Neck are yours."

"Man the Moat. Keep it away from Bolton's hands, and front the Ironborn. Join me in getting the North back into loyal Northern hands."

"I will, in your name, Arya Stark of Winterfell."

* * *

Arya had never enjoyed Melisandre's company and conversation as they traveled the Riverlands, and then after they crossed into the Neck. That time, riding towards White Harbor was no exception, though the moment Thoros was mentioned, Arya's interest had been enticed. 

"Your friend, Thoros, did the ultimate sacrifice for our god."

"What do you mean?" Gendry asked.

Melisandre looked at him, and smiling, she replied, "You don't think the tower caught on fire accidentally, do you, my lord?"

"It was Thoros," Arya stated.

"It was, indeed, but it was not just to kill the men atop the tower."

"Then what?" Gendry asked.

"The greatest honor for a priest or priestess of R'hollor is to self-immolate. To burn to please him, to secure his favor."

Gendry narrowed his eyes, turned towards the priestess, and said with disbelief evident in his tone, "You're saying Thoros lit himself on fire as a sacrifice?"

"We won, did we not? The Lord listened to _my_ prayers and took Thoros' offering."

Gendry huffed, and he spurred his horse forward to set distance between him and the red woman.

"Your husband does not approve of the actions of the one true God."

"Oh, it's none of that, Lady Melisandre."

"Then, what is it, Lady Arya?"

"He does not approve of giving credit to your god for the hard labor and suffering of those who fought and lost."

She did not wait for her response and caught up with Gendry. 

Her husband didn't wait for Arya to say anything, and as soon as he noticed her galloping next to him, he said, "I cannot believe that woman."

"About her god being the one to thank for our victory?"

"Like what she did with the fire at the back of the fight was what made the difference. And not the blood spilled during the battle."

* * *

When they reached White Harbor, the city had been quite a vision, with its tall walls built with whitewashed stone. Gendry had grown under the shadow of the Red Keep, and there was no reason for him to be impressed by a significantly smaller city than King's Landing. Yet, when they were welcomed within its walls, the cleanliness of its cobbled streets, despite the hustling, surprised him. 

By the time they had made it to the New Castle, it had been close to dusk of the second day after the battle, and everyone was tired and in dire need of a bath. Still, when they been able to dismount and enter the keep, Shireen had been there, waiting impatiently, with a stoic Selyse standing behind her. 

King Stannis had been unusually affectionate when he saw his daughter. He walked to her with brisk steps and gathered her in his arms. Keeping her face against his chest, he caressed her gently with his thumb on the side that had turned into grey stone. 

Gendry noticed Arya looking away, blinking away something in her eye, as his only cousin seemed overwhelmed by her father's show of emotion. 

"Shireen, let go," her mother chastised her. "You act as it has been years since you last saw your father." 

Shireen let go of Stannis, and her face dropped. She acted guilty as if it had been her who prompted the hug.

The queen then addressed her husband, "Your grace."

"My lady," Stannis replied, adopting his natural stoicism.

"We've heard of your victory, praise R'hllor."

Gendry realized that Selyse was even more grating than the sound of Stannis' teeth grinding. He had not missed her at all, but the moment Shireen had let go of her father and turned towards him, he realized he had missed his cousin. He extended his hand, and Shireen had come to him, and placed a kiss on his cheek, seeking Arya after to embrace her.

"You must be exhausted," Lord Manderly said, getting everyone's attention. "The seven know I am. You will be shown to our baths and then to the chambers prepared for you."

* * *

Arya was shown to a lavish bath all in pristine polished white stone with recessed stone pools. The water looked turquoise inside, with a motif of a merman formed by small glass tiles. Arya shed the bloody and soiled clothes, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion and aches from the battle.

Once bare, she walked into the tub, letting the warm water wash away the mud, and the temperature soaking her aches. She could see the film of blood and dirt forming at the top of the water as she continued submerging in the water. She could smell the scent of lavender and other herbs. When the water level reached her hip, a scratch on her left side smarted up and stung, making her cover it with her hand for a moment. Seeing the ledge on the side, she sat on it, letting the water level cover her breast's nakedness.

Arya let get head rest back, against the edge of the bath, and her eyes closed. Her muscles ached, but she had to say that the healing herbs and lavender's scent were accomplishing the task of relaxing.

As she moved, still with her eyes closed, the dull pain made her moan low.

"I would offer milk of the poppy, but grandfather had to send Maester Theomore on an unexpected trip to the Citadel a moon turn ago," a young girl's voice sounded, making Arya open her eyes.

She saw a girl, mayhaps a bit older than her, with wild green hair and a large basket on her hands. The girl set the basket on the floor, and Arya could see that it contained clothing, towels, and some glass bottles, filled with oils.

"No need, I rather keep my wits about me, anyway," she responded, shaking her head and staring at the girl. Her clothes and her demeanor informing her that she was no servant.

The green-haired girl disrobed.

She observed her undressing without self-consciousness and then joining her in the bath.

"My name is Wylla Manderly, you've met my grandfather," she informed her as she sat across her. 

"I'm Arya."

"Of House Stark."

"In a previous life," she replied.

"I heard plenty from your good cousin Shireen."

Arya raised one eyebrow, trying to figure her out.

"She is very fond of you, and we've also heard a lot about your feats in the Riverlands."

"Stories are always aggrandized."

"True, but the source has to be impressive to start with to become mythical."

"I like your hair," Arya said, diverting the conversation. "I haven't seen hair color like that since I left Essos."

"My hair is a very pale blond. Since I was little, I always liked swimming in the ocean, and because of that, my hair always had a subtle tinge of green. When I was old enough to understand about banners and sigils, I saw the Manderly merman, with its bright green hair. I'm a proud Manderly, you see, and since I cannot grow a tail, I did the next best thing. We get a lot of traders from Essos, it was easy to procure the dye."

Arya just smiled and replied, "It suits you."

"Do you trust your good uncle?" Wylla asked without preamble.

Arya took a moment to think and then replied, "I trust he believes himself to be the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms, and that he'll honor the alliance we made."

"And your husband?"

Arya thought that Wylla may have never heard of the game of faces, but she knew that it was no coincidence that they had ended up having that conversation, nor that it was her who had brought her a robe, oils and a comb for her bath. 

"It is Stannis who should wonder if Gendry's alliances are first to him or to me."

"You trust your husband that much? Despite him being a stag?"

"My husband has never been a stag. He's a bull."

Wylla stared, trying to understand her meaning, and it made Arya smile.

"He was a bastard of King Robert's, but he never knew about it. Everyone called him bull for how stubborn he is."

"Not to mention the way he looks," Wylla added, with a lopsided smile, that both pleased her and spread something that felt as green as the girl's hair inside her chest, wondering if Wylla had brought him towels during his bath as well.

"Gendry is more wolf than a stag."

"Good," Wylla replied. "Us, merfolk, are loyal only to wolves. We are of the North, since your ancestors took mine in, a thousand years before. And _the North remembers._ "

They didn't talk of anything else of importance, but Wylla helped Arya wash her hair, and after it was oiled, she carefully helped her untangle it. It felt good to shed all the muck from the battle off her hair and body. Wylla was like no Northern girl she had ever met, nor like the women of King's Landing. Arya suspected that her worldliness came from all the trading vessels that docked in the harbor, but despite it all, she was Northern underneath it all, where it counted.

* * *

Arya was wearing a blue-green silk robe, lent to her by Wylla Manderly. The texture on her naked skin made her feel as if she was still submerged in the water. It had beautiful embroidering on the cuffs of the sleeves and at the hem that trailed behind her, because of the height difference between the young Manderly girl and herself. When she walked into the lavish rooms they were assigned in the Manderly Keep, she had been surprised to find it empty. Arya had to acknowledge that not seeing Gendry there when she arrived had been disappointing. 

She had to admit that she had been feeling a nervous tingling under her skin despite how comforting the bath had been, with the healing herbs and sweet-smelling fragrances. She had been itching to leave to go in search of her husband. Still now, after the hot bath, she was well aware of how the peaks of her teats had tightened, and there was heat pooling in her lower belly, just because she had been thinking of him. 

The sound of the great door opening startled her, and when her eyes set on Gendry's equally surprised face, a heat of embarrassment spread on her cheeks. 

Gendry had a bath as well, he was barefoot, and his black hair was wet. He wore a clean light tunic, and the same pair of breeches he had been wearing when they arrived at White Harbor. 

"You didn't get a robe?" Arya asked, and the moment the words came out of her mouth, she deemed them stupid.

"Hmmm, they offered, but it felt queer."

"So, you decided to wear your dirty breeches instead?"

He smiled and looked away.

"Not all of us look as good in silk."

After he said it, his eyes took their time going over the way her body looked in the delicate robe. Arya's breath caught in her throat when there was no question that he seemed to be entranced by the way her hard nipples were easy to spot with how tight the robe was cinched around her body, and how the fabric hugged her like a second skin. 

"You're beautiful," he said, walking towards her, and once he reached where she was, he kissed her gently, cradling the back of her head with his large hand. 

"Well, _you_ smell good for a change," she said, still with eyes closed as they parted.

"Ah, my wife forgets that I've spent too long wading through mud, and we're still in the middle of a war," Gendry replied, taking the time to caress her nose with his. 

"I am pleased you survived."

Gendry shrugged, "I was terrified of what you would have done in retaliation if I dared die."

Arya swatted at him. 

"You're an idiot, but I'm glad you're not dead."

"I am glad you are alive too. I couldn't go on if you hadn't."

Their little moment was interrupted by rapping on the door. When Gendry went to get it, he seemed to exchange a few words with the servant girl there, and stepping aside, he let the girl come in, with a tray of cold cuts, fruit, and wine, that she placed on the table inside the chambers. 

"Our host has graciously sent us food," Gendry informed her, once the girl left. "He says he understands we are tired and in need to rest. Tomorrow there will be time for war councils."

"Thank the gods for that, old and new," Arya replied, and her relief must have been quite evident, for the way it made Gendry's smug smile appear, and he pulled her to him to steal another kiss. 

When they parted, their lips still hovered over, and Arya licked his lower lip.

"Hungry?" 

"Starving," he replied without missing a beat, his voice gruff, making the meaning behind his response more brazen than what he had intended.

Both laughed, and Arya gave him a quick peck before turning to the foods on the table.

"Still," Arya said with her back to him as she picked up a peach, and took a bite. "We should eat while there is food."

Gendry walked until he was behind her and embraced her from behind. His left hand ran from her hip up until it found her arm, and he pulled it to him, so he could bring the piece of fruit to his lips and he sank his teeth on the place where she had just taken a bite, over her shoulder. 

Arya turned her head, as much as she could, so she could see him, catching only his stubbled jaw, marked by his scars and freckles. 

They sat down to eat, and after they grazed on the cold meats, fruits, and cheese, washing it down with sips of fine Dornish red, they stared at each other from each side of the table. Gendry was sure that there was something in the way the light from the fire and the candles made Arya's eyes sparkle. Her brown hair was loose and cascading down over her right shoulder. She always wore it on a braid over her back, or she'd coil the braid high on her head to keep off her face as she rode and sparred. Gendry noticed how long it had grown and how different it was from when he had first met her. 

"Do I have something on my face or stuck between my teeth?" she asked, squirming a bit.

Gendry shook his head, and with a smile, he replied, "Not at all, I was just noticing how long your hair is."

"Does it look stupid?"

"No, beautiful. You look beautiful."

Gendry stood up from his chair, and walking to hers, he extended his hand, inviting her to take it. 

Arya did, and she expected him to kiss her. Instead, he took her into his arms, with one arm under her back and the other under her knees. He had caught her unaware, and her hands had instinctively gone to his neck to feel secure. 

The lavish canopied bed had already been turned down for them. Gendry set his left knee on the mattress, to deposit her in the middle of the featherbed. He had started retreating, but Arya held on to the linen of his shirt, keeping him still, hovering above her. Her actions made hin grin, and he set his forearms on the mattress, on each side of her face, to keep his weight from crushing her. 

Arya was impatient, and she pushed herself up, joining their lips, in a forceful and inelegant kiss. Her desperation had Gendry snickering against her mouth. 

"Can you please take this seriously?!" Arya chided him, after biting his lower lip, enough to get his full attention.

"You're mad if you think I don't take this seriously."

"Do you? Prove it."

Gendry sat back on his feet and pulled his shirt off by the back of his collar in response. 

After discarding it, he reassumed his position over Arya, and his lips kissed her hungrily. Arya liked the feeling of his lips on hers, their enchanting power that managed to distract her enough to miss how the silk tie that cinched her waist had become slack. She only noticed it, when she felt Gendry pull it off her body, and throw it over his shoulder to the place he had discarded his shirt earlier. Arya thought he'd pull the robe from her right away, and leave her bare for his eyes, but instead, he continued kissing her. His right hand set over her left breast, caressing it over the sleek fabric. Gendry's thumb rubbed her peak in circles, working it back into the tightness it had before he found her in their chamber.

On the third pass of his thumb over her nipple, Arya moaned into his mouth, and she felt Gendry smile against her lips. Everything in his being was pushing him to peel the thin fabric away from her skin. 

Arya had learned about silk in Essos, and she had told him how it was produced, with a caterpillar spinning the delicate silk into a cocoon. She had described the necessary cruelty of dissolving it in boiling water, so its cocoon could be unwound. She then explained that a strand was so impossibly thin that several of them have to be spun together to create a single thread of silk that could be woven into cloth. 

She had explained all about it when she mentioned that the dyed fabric of the gown of the red woman had been made of exotic Essosi silk, the same one that was ruined as she treaded through the swamps of the Neck. 

Gendry never cared about silk, not when it was just one more expensive commodity that nobles had to clothe themselves when wool and linen could suffice. 

Still, that night, the soft filmy cloth dyed blue-green separating Arya's soft peaks from his calloused thumb was the most miraculous of mankind's creations. He would forever be thankful for the cunning smugglers that had found the way to bring silk to Westeros because, without them, he would have never known the marvels of his wife's taut nipples clad in the silken cloth. 

Despite Gendry never having touched silk before it did not hold a candle against Arya's soft skin. The Essosi treasure was worthless compared to the hidden places his fingers had had the privilege of caressing on his wife's body.

The thought made his kisses more desperate, and Arya enjoyed feeling Gendry getting restless. She wondered what thoughts and feelings had fueled his fires. As Arya tried to keep up with his lips and tongue, and the frenzy of his thumbs on her teats, she promised herself one day she'd ask what was the spark. Right then, though, the only thing she could do was bury her hands on his wild mussed hair, pulling a bit more than she should from time to time, trying to get him to growl. 

Arya's teeth clamped on his lip. Gendry was used to her bites, from teasing ones to ones that drew blood, every time that she would wake from one of those dreams of hers when she'd seemed so very far away from him. 

That bite was enough to make his hands let go of her breasts, and find the embroidered hems of the silk robe, and holding on to each side, he pulled it open, baring her body to him. He had to pull away from her lips, to be able to look down, to the pale skin, marred only by silvery scar lines, from fights he could only imagine in his worst nightmares, and recent pink ones, received while fighting alongside him. There were also the faint violet marks of his love bites. Stories he had written on her skin with his mouth and fingers. Promises he hadn't yet had time to put into words in the presence of heart trees. 

Arya inhaled loudly, feeling vulnerable under his gaze, and as she always did, she fought the feeling going in the offensive, pushing herself up, enough to capture his mouth in hers, and one hand came up to hook behind his neck.

Gendry pulled back, his bottom lip stretching, as it was captured by her teeth, and then having to yank it to get it free.

"Stay still," he growled. "I want to see you."

Arya could have said many things, comebacks that were witty or harsh, or just go for the commonplace return in the same dance they've always followed. It felt different though, and so she didn't say anything, letting the hand that was behind his neck come down, to rest by her side. The robe hung open, her breasts sagging just a bit, in her half risen posture. Arya's chest heaved slightly, under the scrutiny of his eyes, and, noticing that the silk half clung to her, she brought her left hand up, attempting to rid herself of it. 

"No, leave it," he commanded. 

Gendry had already seen Arya bare more than once. Mayhaps not as clearly as that night, with how that chamber seemed to have more candles that they were accustomed to, but still, there should not be a reason for her to feel self-conscious. Still, that was precisely how she felt, with the robe open and barely hanging from her shoulders. 

Arya surrendered to the feeling, and slowly, she let herself lean back again on the featherbed, her hair fanning around her head, and her body, blemishes, and all laid open for him. She had practiced for years in the game of faces, and despite all her training, she felt bare in front of Gendry, not just because of the way her teats and cunt were laid out there for him, but for the way, he never missed finding Arya under all the masks she donned. 

Gendry held on to one of her legs, with his hand cradling her knee. He lifted it to open up space for him to kneel in between her legs. He then brought his head down and kissed the side of the knee, and he trailed kisses up to the softest skin of her inner thigh. 

Arya's breath got caught in her chest, not just because of the way it felt but because his eyes never wavered from hers. 

Gendry then lowered her leg and hooked it around his hip. He then leaned in, so his chest was once more against hers, and his coarse hair tickled her a bit. It seemed as he had planned that, because be moved a bit from side to side, teasing her peaks, and the moment a rogue giggle spilled from her mouth, he harvested it with his lips. 

Arya brought one hand then to his jaw, and the other one went over his shoulder, to anchor herself on his strong back. She could feel Gendry's cock hardening through his leather breeches, the only thing keeping them apart. She wanted to reach for his laces to even the field, making him as nude as she was, but she forced her hands to stay higher on his body, knowing full well that if they were both naked, nothing would keep them joining again as man and wife. 

That did not stop her from moving, feeling warm and slick against him, and knowing, just by the way he groaned in her mouth, that he understood just how much she wanted him. 

Gendry bit her lip, to get her to calm down, and pulling back, he stared, letting Arya see that the blue of his eyes was all but gone. 

"You fight dirty," Gendry accused her.

"And you don't?" She asked, rubbing herself against him again, licking her top lip in the most obscene gesture she could manage.

There was no reply, as Gendry was enthralled by her little stunt, and he lowered himself back on top of her to kiss her brusquely. His kisses then started going lower, to her neck, prompting Arya to arch her back and give him more soft skin for him to bite.

The wolf inside her knew what she wanted, even if there were no words for her. When he reached the swell of her breasts, he kissed down the valley between them, and then, to her frustration, he brought his kisses to the underside of her left breast.

Her wolf whined in frustration, and he grinned against her skin. The way he toyed with her distracted Arya enough that she lost track of where his hands were. Soon, his right hand had started playing with the smooth curls in between her legs, letting his index finger twirl in a coil, and moving it to get it loose. The finger started moving up and down, every time getting closer and closer, until it found its furrow, burying in her folds and making her gasp.

Arya had done her share of exploring her own skin. From the frustrating balmy nights of Braavos, when she was younger, waking from her wolf dreams with a hunger that could not be sated.

As she grew older, a handful of times, she had managed to make herself peak. She knew of the bit of skin, hidden under her folds, as Bellegere Otherys, the black pearl of Braavos, had once enlightened her about. Her own fingers sometimes were not enough, and she found that ridding herself of her own name and face left her feeling empty and unfulfilled.

In all honesty, she hadn't yet considered she'd like to feel Gendry's fingers there, but the moment he had made contact took her breath away, and it made her buck.

Gendry raised his head from her chest, where he had been busy sticking a purple mark on the pale skin.

"Did it hurt?" He asked, concerned.

Arya shook her head, and if she hadn't been feeling the intoxication of her want and of his searing touch, she would have called him stupid, but instead, she bit her lower lip and let her eyes close.

"Don't do that," he pleaded." Let me see your eyes."

Arya forced them open, but Gendry had continued exploring her with his fingers. He moved to lie down next to her. Without stopping the play of his fingers, Gendry switched hands momentarily, so his right hand could hook itself on her hip and pull her to her side and closer to him. After that, and after a quick kiss to both her nipples, he continued to touch her, and then he let one finger dip inside her, while his thumb drew circles on her sensitive bud.

"Does _this_ feel good?"

Arya just nodded, letting her lids grow heavy, but Gendry got closer and kissed her hard once more.

"Look at me."

It was hard not to do as he asked when his voice seemed to beg her as if he wasn't the one who kept winding her up tighter and tighter and getting her dangerously close to coming undone.

His face caught her attention, with a look she had never seen in his eyes. She could feel herself burning up at once, on her cheeks, her teats, and her cunt. Soon he had added one more finger, and she felt so impossibly full. Gendry's fingers had picked up the pace, and his thumb was pressing harder on her bud. He seemed to be timing his movement with the sound of her pants, as she was no longer able to keep her breathing calm.

Then, his left hand took a moment to squeeze her breast with his broad thumb playing with her nipple. The feeling in her core heightened, adding to her desperation.

"Let go," he pleaded, with his lips hovering by her mouth. Arya gasped, and the tight coil inside of her broke, and his name got caught in her throat, but the sound was enough to make him kiss her hard.

It took her a while to catch her breath, and meanwhile, Gendry kissed every inch of her face.

Once calm, her fingers searched for his laces, but Gendry stopped her, holding on to her wrist.

When Arya gave him a confused look, he replied, "My pleasure was never part of the deal."

She knitted her eyebrows at his response, but Gendry pulled her to him, the sound of his heartbeat lulling her.

"Tonight was just for you," he said, just before she surrendered to slumber.

* * *

As sleep started to leave Gendry, he kept his eyes shut, but he took in everything around. The air was fresh, and it lacked the dampness and slight moldy scent of the Neck. The bed was plush, mayhaps the softest he had ever lain in, softer even than the featherbed of Riverrun, where he had spent his first night with Arya. 

He felt her then, against his back. Her arm went around his torso, and it held on tight to him, flattening her teats against his back. Her left leg wrapped around his hip, and then it somehow came to rest her foot in between his thighs. Right at that moment, she chose to flick it, and her heel rubbed against him, bringing a wave of arousal. He had to grab her foot and move it away, not wanting to start something that he knew well they couldn't finish. 

The thought brought back memories from the previous night, and he smiled, smug with what he had been able to make his wife feel. It had been a chip on his shoulder, that the night of their wedding he had taken pleasure from her, and he had been unable to give it back. He knew they could have done something else, and he could have found release as well, without risking getting her with child, but he had wanted to even the scores. 

The door to the chamber opened then, without any prior knocking, he turned back towards it, and he barely had time to pull the blankets over their bodies before a servant was coming in and leaving fresh clothes and a jug of water on a table.

Arya woke up the moment Gendry had moved abruptly from their embrace, and turned to see the matronly woman setting things down.

"Forgive me, my lady, my lord," the woman spoke, without guilt in her voice, as she continued setting things down and going back to the door and taking other items from a girl there and bringing them inside.

"We have received your trunks, and we took the liberty of cleaning and airing your clothes and bringing them to you, along with some water."

"Did you bring something to break our fast?" Arya asked, rising from the bed, and unconcerned about her nude torso being visible, as she brushed the sleep from her eyes.

"Lord Manderly asks that his esteem guests meet him for the morning meal," the woman replied.

* * *

When the servants left, their eyes met for the first time that morning, and they must have been remembering the same thing for the way they smiled and blushed.

"Good morning," Gendry said, bringing a hand to her lower back.

"Good morning, _husband_ ," Arya replied.

The grin on his face grew, and he brought his lips to hers for a quick kiss, but soon, Arya was on her back and Gendry on top. 

When the kiss ended, they stayed as they were, smiling at each other.

"As much as I would prefer to stay here, I believe they're waiting for us," she informed him.

Gendry groaned, but pulled back and offered her his hand to help her stand up.

They both walked to where their freshened up clothes and clean boots were left, and they started getting dressed. Arya noticed that a pair of her leather breeches were brought, along with one of the elegant dresses that Selyse had gifted her, and that she had altered, with slashes on the sides, so she could continue to ride and water dance in it. It wasn't something that she would have chosen to wear for that day, with the intricate embroidering of stags and wolves with golden thread, over the slate grey of the wool. Arya understood, having noticed the lavishness of the New Castle, that the servants had chosen clothes from her trunks that matched the styles that were expected of nobles at the Merman Court. She dressed and braided her hair and could, and she left the long braid hanging on her back. 

Gendry was not happier about his choice of clothing: clean black leather breeches, a soft linen shirt in pale yellow, and a black woolen doublet, with a large golden stag, embroidered on the left side of his chest.

Once ready, they left their chambers and were escorted by two guards carrying silver tridents to Lord Manderly's solar. Once there, they could see that Lord Manderly and his family were already there, along with Stannis, Selyse and Shireen. Wylla had smiled at Arya, and the rest of the Manderly's seemed to be happy about their presence. Shireen was beaming, and Stannis had his regular impassive face, while Selyse had taken a look at Arya's altered clothes, and turned her face in a sign of disapproval. 

"Please, seat and break your fast," Lord Manderly indicated, as he signaled for the servants to bring them food. 

Several trays of sweetbreads, exotic fruits, cold cuts, and cheeses were brought, in a fashion that Arya thought seemed more appropriate for a nightly feast instead of a morning meal. Still, the lord of White Harbor and his family seemed as this was more the norm than the exception. 

"Allow me to introduce my family, this is my son Wylis, and his wife, Lady Leona," Lord Wyman explained, introducing a large man and plump woman to his right. He then continued, as he nodded towards the young women to his left, "and my dear granddaughters, Wynafryd and Wylla."

Wylla smiled when her eyes met Arya's, but the one who had stood out to her was Lord Wyman's son. She remembered seeing the fat man from afar in the company of Roose Bolton at Harrenhal. The sudden memory made her wary. 

"I hope that you had well-deserved rest after our victory at the Moat."

Stannis huffed and set his utensils down, saying, "a bit rich to call it _our_ victory."

"You cannot deny that it was my men's presence that cinched the victory, _your grace_."

"Your men, along with _my men_ , that you kept hostage."

"As I mentioned before, I did what was best for my house and the North. And despite everything, today we are sitting here, where we can plan a strategy for what is to come."

"You mean to have us talk politics during our morning meal?" Stannis asked with apparent animosity.

"You have a problem with that? Where would you prefer we talk about it?"

"In your solar, without the ladies present. When my hand, my most trusted men, and my priestess are with me."

"Funny, I saw your good niece decked in steel and mail holding her own in the battlefield, and yet, you would rather she was not present?"

Gendry laughed out loud, prompting everyone to turn to face him, and he noticed that Lord Manderly seemed pleased with his reaction. 

"Well, then," Stannis spoke. "Will you back my claim?"

"There will be time for that, your grace," Wyman commented. "But first, there are things that must be discussed with family only until we know who we can trust." 

"Well, my uncle, Ser Axell, is not present," Selyse chimed in.

"That is, _my dear lady_ , not because he is not your family, but because I just cannot stand the man."

Arya smiled, and she noticed that Shireen seemed to share a look with Wylla and Wynafryd. 

"Lord Manderly," Stannis continued, "tell me what must be discussed. Since you came and joined our side in battle, I thought it was clear that you would back my claim."

"With all respect, your grace. House Manderly is loyal to the North, and the North is House Stark," Wyman said, turning towards Arya and Gendry. "We are here today, at my table, sharing a meal with my family only because you share a blood bond with Lady Arya over here."

"You will back me, only because of my good niece because I promised to deliver Winterfell to her? Lord Manderly, what will assure me that you will back my claim for the Iron Throne once Winterfell is given to your liege lady?"

Wyman Manderly continued to smile, not showing any slight in Stannis' words, and he shared a look with his son, who seemed to be grinning wide under his busy mustache.

"Well, I do not know what you think we've been doing all this long, but I lost a son at the Red Wedding, and only now I've secured the release of my son and heir."

"I know you have been busy _attending_ Northern weddings," Stannis reply without missing a beat, which prompted Lord Manderly to let out a deep belly laugh.

Everyone at the table, except for the Baratheon king and queen, seemed infected by Lord Wyman's amusement. 

"You are right, your grace. I recently attended the wedding of Roose's son to Lady Arya, though it seems Lady Arya was not invited to her own wedding."

"Not to my _fake_ wedding, I was not, "Arya added, and then intertwining her fingers with Gendry's, and looking directly at him, she continued, "but I did attend the _true_ one."

Wyman then spoke, "I have to admit, I attended the wedding, not expecting to make it back home. I am, as surprised as everyone else that I am sitting here with you. I am not ashamed for the things I had to do for my family," Wyman said, as he looked at his granddaughters and gave almost imperceptible nods. "We may be just another Northern house, and you Southron folk, we may seem simple, but we play the game just as well, as you do south of the Neck."

Wyman looked around all of those sitting at the table, and after taking a bite of a sweetbread wrapped in puff pastry, he said, "Now, let me fill you in on the game that has been unfolding in the North."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been really hard, and I will do my best to post again in a week, but just in case that I don't, just know that I'm working as hard as I kind in this story. 
> 
> Thank you, all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyman Manderly shares what he knows, in particular a wild young wolf in the island of Skagos. He also shows Arya's party a secret project he has been working on for years. Arya shares with Gendry about the help she asked of Jyana, and they get to explore their relationship more. Stannis talks with Gendry about his duty, and opens up an idea that may drive a wedge between him and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me an extra week to get this ready, but without any more ado, here it is.

[ ](https://imgur.com/1sUI97E)

"What do you know about the sack of Winterfell?" Wyman Manderly asked his guests, but his eyes turned towards Arya at the end.

The reference to the fall of Winterfell was hard to swallow, almost as much as remembering her father's death or arriving at the Twins late. 

"Only that Theon betrayed my brother Robb's friendship and trust, and he stabbed us in the back, the moment he took my home and killed my brothers, even though my father raised him alongside his own children."

"Yes, what Greyjoy did was terrible. He had his comeuppance, though," Wyman explained, and Arya wondered what he may have been referring to.

"But that is not what I want to tell you about. There was a survivor of the sacking, Wex Pyke, a mute boy who used to be Theon Greyjoy's squire and is now under my protection. He has been taught to read and write, and he shared with us the truth beyond the massacre."

Lord Wyman took a moment to think, and after a quick sip from his cup, he continued, "It was Roose Bolton's bastard son who pillaged and burned Winterfell. My lady, Theon Greyjoy may have killed two boys, and the seven will damn him for it, but those boys were not your brothers."

Gendry felt Arya's hand squeeze his hard, despite how she tried to stay still. He was able to see her swallow and blink repeatedly. 

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. They left together, along with others. Your brothers parted ways, and I am sorry I cannot tell you what happened to your brother Bran. What I can tell you though, without a doubt, is that that your brother Rickon was taken North by a wildling woman, along with his direwolf. They crossed the Bay of Seals towards-"

" _Skagos_ ," Arya interrupted him.

"How would you know that?" Stannis asked, knitting his eyebrows.

"A ghost."

Gendry could see the face his uncle made, knowing better than to press Arya for a direct answer when she clearly didn't intend to give one. He was no stranger to the ghost his wife had referenced, having been there himself when the crone spoke of her dreams.

"I've been working on getting him back, you see," Wyman continued. "There are many Northern houses who want a Stark reinstated as Warden of the North. Some because of undying loyalty, and others because the Bolton rule has been harsh and bloody. No matter the reason, the North is divided."

"Who better than my good niece, sitting at your table and sharing your food?" Stannis replied.

"Yes, I can see the Stark in her, but as you can imagine, anyone can parade a brown-haired girl and call her a wolf."

"You doubt who Arya is?" Gendry found himself blurting out as he leaned in.

"No, I do not, and if I did, that huge direwolf in my courtyard would be enough to convince me. This is why my plan has been to bring your brother from Skagos, along with his direwolf."

" _Shaggydog_. My brother's direwolf. That's its name."

Wyman smiled, and continued, "The North will follow a Stark who walks with a direwolf, no doubt. There will be many who will call on inheritance law, and argue that if there is a male heir, even if younger than Arya, he'd come before."

"I do not care who gets to be Lord of Winterfell. I just want my home back, and what is left of my family to be together. If my brothers are alive, we must find them."

Stannis' teeth ground, and his eyes threw daggers in his nephew's way.

Manderly shared a look with his son, and then he announced, "Good, we'll have more time to discuss strategy. In the meantime, if you are done breaking your fast, I have planned for us to journey upriver, there is something you must see."

* * *

All the women, except Arya, remained in the solar, while the rest left and joined Stannis' advisors. They were taken out of the keep, in the direction of the river. Once there, they were asked to board a couple of river runners to travel north on the White Knife. 

As they were rowed upstream, Nymeria ran along the shore. 

"What's your direwolf's name?" Wyman, who traveled on the same runner as Arya and Gendry, asked, while the rest journeyed in another barge.

"Nymeria," Arya replied, feeling the slight chill in the air.

"I never dreamed I would get to live to see one in my lifetime. Not all this way south of the Wall. As you can imagine, there is little chance of me ever making it that far north."

Arya stared at the man. It had taken three different servants to get him on the river runner. In the end, his son Wylis had stayed back at the New Keep, and Arya was sure that no runner would be strong enough to carry both Manderly men. 

"I saw your son before, at Harrenhal," Arya said, choosing to address what bothered her during the meal. "I didn't know his name back then, but I've no doubt of it."

"You were in Harrenhal?" all of Lord Manderly's four chins jiggled as he quizzed Arya with disbelief.

"We both were," Arya replied, sharing a quick look with Gendry. "He was there, I saw him, when Tywin held it, and then with Roose, after the fall of Harrenhal."

"You wonder if you can trust us because you saw Wylis in the company of Roose."

"You said it, my lord."

"He was under the Bolton command when Roose was still pretending to follow your brother. We will not betray you, my lady. I had a second son, Wendel, he died with your brother and lady mother at the Twins. Wylis was captured by the Lannisters. I had to accept Bolton as Warden of the North and promise my granddaughters to Freys to get him back. That was the price I had to pay, along with a lot of gold and silver. I've been playing along, as has much of the North."

Manderly looked around the river and took a deep breath of Northern air.

"My son is home; I'm done with this bloody mummer's farce."

No one spoke for a long while.

After the time they spent in the Neck, if felt too open to travel on the White Knife River. Arya kept herself aware of her surroundings, feeling as if they were vulnerable out in the open. They were on the boat for a bit over an hour, still a long while south from the place where the river bifurcated. The river suddenly widened, and before them, they could see dozens of galleys at both shores, extending in front of them, as far as their eyes could see.

The river runners were brought to the shore, and Wyman was helped off the barge. Despite his embarrassing disembarkment, Lord Manderly seemed proud.

"What is it that you brought us here for, Manderly?" Stannis asked.

"The warships that I promised King Robb."

"A dozen or so?" Ser Axell mocked him.

"In this short stretch?" Wyman asked in return, unfazed. "Yes, and all along the White Knife. Plus, over twenty hidden in our harbor, disguised as trading ships. I pledged myself to my king and promised him a fleet. I was commanded to work with the Umbers, and they shipped timber downriver for our joint project. That was until Lord Bolton took the wardenship of the North, and there was no way to travel in between Winterfell and the Dreadfort. After that, the wood came from the Hornwood forest."

"You made ships for my brother?" Arya asked in disbelief, realizing that Robb's life had more transcendence than his death.

"Yes, my lady. My king was killed, but my task was not. Almost a hundred galleys later, I can finally tell my liege lady that not only the North remembers, it has also been getting ready."

"What's the downside?" Gendry asked suddenly.

"What do you mean, nephew?" Stannis asked.

"Don't take it the wrong way, Lord Manderly. It was good when you showed up with your men and the rest of ours at the Moat. Then, you welcomed us in your home, gave us lavish rooms, and told us you've been waiting for a Stark to back. You swore fealty to my wife and told us that you will join our cause and even that the brothers she thought she lost are alive. You show us these galleys, and you tell us you've been getting ready all this time, and you have almost a hundred warships. It's just…"

"Too convenient?" Arya offered.

"Aye, forgive me, my lord, but I wonder what's the downside," he continued, and looking towards Arya, he said, "we haven't had the best of luck."

Arya gave him a complicit smile. 

"You could have gone already to fetch my brother from Skagos."

"That is true. I have all these galleys but no seasoned sailors to man them. They'll sooner be destroyed if I sent my men out on them to face the Redwynes or the Ironborn. Let us go back to White Harbor and talk strategy."

As Manderly's men sweated trying to get their lord back on to the river runner, Arya looked away, upstream, with Nymeria standing next to her. Gendry came to her side, and without looking his way, she spoke, "This is the closest I've ever been to my home, and I'm about to turn back once more."

Gendry's hand searched for hers without looking. 

"We'll make it there."

It was then that Nymeria chose to whimper in a way that was unusual for her.

Arya ran her hand over her fur, behind her ears, and commanded, "Go."

Nymeria took off running then, quickly getting lost in the woods ahead. 

When they boarded the boat, Lord Manderly turned towards her and asked, "Is your direwolf not going back to the harbor, my lady? We cannot afford you losing the proof we have over Roose of your identity."

"Don't worry, Lord Manderly, she will come back to me when she is sated." 

* * *

After they made it back to the New Keep, there were general talks about what the naval fleet and taking the Moat could mean. The strategy centered mostly on how the victory and Salladhor Saan's support could warrant backing from Essos, both in coin from the Iron Bank and paid sellswords. Davos was tasked with sending ravens both to the Stormlands and to his Essosi friend, to start gathering the men to command the ships they had just seen. 

It was decided that they would try to keep the victory of Moat Cailin to themselves from reaching Bolton's ears as long as they could. This was done to buy them time to strengthen their numbers of men and resources both on land and over the sea. The war council was dismissed and set to restart once responses to Ser Davos' ravens had arrived.

Arya and Gendry walked towards their chambers, and once inside, Arya closed the door slowly, while Gendry sat down to rid himself of his boots. 

Arya leaned her back on the door, watching Gendry for a few moments. There were words that she meant to say, and so, she walked towards him. When he looked up and his eyes set on her, Arya turned, trying to busy herself with something or other, and said, "There is something I must tell you."

"A different man would think you're about to send me packing, by how you're trying not to look at me in the eye."

Gendry's words made her turn to face him.

"It's quite the opposite. I wanted to let you know that in the Neck, I asked Jyana for help. She procured moon tea for me, and I've been drinking it ever since."

Arya was not quite sure what had made her nervous about telling Gendry about her tea. But the moment right after saying it, when he stayed silent and unmoving, had felt far longer than it actually was. Gendry then took the few steps that separated them and picked her up from the ground and kissed her passionately. Arya's legs wrapped over his hips as he walked them both through the chamber until he set her on a high table.

Panting, in between kisses, Arya gently pushed on Gendry's chest, until she could look at him.

"There's more."

"More?" he asked with drunken eyes.

"It's not safe yet," she explained and stole a quick peck to his lips before continuing, "I need to drink it daily for a whole moonturn before it can stop your seed from taking root in my womb."

Gendry stared at her for a few minutes, and Arya could see as the words slowly sunk in. He nodded softly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers.

"Are you disappointed?" 

Arya's words made him open his eyes and grin at the fear in her voice.

"Why would I be disappointed?" he asked with a huff.

Arya shrugged in the way Gendry knew well to be defensive. 

"Well, you had that plan about seducing me," she replied.

This time, it was Gendry who stole a kiss, with his hand cradling the back of her neck, but it was a bit more than a peck.

" _Court you proper_ ," he corrected her after the kiss ended, still close enough that she felt his words caress her lips. "It's not the same thing."

"That's _stupid_ ," Arya replied, pushing at him, needing a bit of distance for her mind to think logically. "We're already married, and you've already _fucked_ me."

Her choice of words affected him in contradictory ways.

"Precisely."

Arya knitted her eyebrows in a way that made something inside his chest want to kiss the frown off of her face. 

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It will," he replied with his mouth already seeking hers.

Gendry moved his body back to the place in between Arya's legs, and she wrapped them around his hips once more. She thought fleetingly that the high table she sat at allowed them to kiss in a way they were not accustomed to. 

"We could do _other_ things," Arya said with eyes closed and in between kisses, wondering if Gendry had even listened to her words. Still, the way his mouth seemed to grin against hers, and how he bit her lower lip, told her that not only he had heard her, but fully understood their meaning.

They kissed for a while until Arya's hands found their way to the back of his shirt, and, taking hold of it, she slid it up until she rid him of it. Gendry was slightly bothered by having to part from her lips, but he couldn't fault her logic. A mad idea filled his head and, taking possession of her mouth, his hand searched for the collar of the fine dress she wore as a tunic, and taking hold of both sides, he pulled them in opposite ways relishing on the satisfying sound of silk tearing.

It was almost as satisfying as Arya's slightly upset huff.

Arya's lips turned competitive, and they moved over his stubbled skin with the same fluidity of her water dance. Her vehemence spurred Gendry, and he returned her kisses and nips in kind, falling into the same well-known rhythm of their sparring.

With eyes closed and wandering fingers, he traced the soft skin, plotting the many exploring routes of her back, and finding the ever obstacle of her tight bindings.

He knew of that savage custom of hers, of wrapping the strips of cloth tight around her lovely breasts, always leaving her skin marred and angry. Every night, he softly traced the ridges with his fingertips, willing the irritation away with caresses.

Still, despite how much he disliked her bindings, he enjoyed how at night when they got under the covers, she'd always take them off, and as of lately, with the growing boldness of their feelings and desires, he had been allowed to unwrap her himself.

Anticipating it, he let his hands wander south to hold on to her backside and lift her, walking them both towards their bed without letting go of her mouth.

Once he found the bed blindly, he kneeled on it. Arya's feet, still clad in her riding boots, held on to his torso, while her arms were wrapped around his neck, and despite Gendry crawling over the bed on hands and knees, she moved along him. 

When he reached the middle of the plush featherbed, he lowered them both, until Arya's back was on the mattress. His lips went on the offensive then, while one of his hands searched for one of the ends of the long strip wrapped around her, and he started to unravel it. It wasn't long until she was bare. He quickly busied himself, trying to soothe the irritated skin with his mouth, and Arya arched her back, aiding him in his task.

The only thing that forced him to stop on his endeavor was the way Arya's booted heel scraped a bit on his lower back. He pushed himself up to unlace the boots and throw them over the side of the bed. Arya then sat up, and before Gendry could go back to his worshipping of her chest, her hands went to the laces of his breeches, untying the knot without taking her sight off Gendry's eyes. The gesture was a defiant one, and Gendry felt vulnerable, letting his mouth curl at one corner. Once she managed to loosen the laces enough, her left hand sank in, as her right hooked around his neck, pulling him down with her, until she was once more on her back.

"Are you sure of what you're doing?" 

"Not sure at all," she replied honestly. "But I want you to show me how."

Right about then, her hand found his cock, and she wrapped her fist around him, making Gendry moan his approval.

"You're doing it quite well so far," he replied with eyes closed and his forehead against hers.

"It's your _turn_."

That made him open his eyes and stare for a moment before saying, "No more turns. No more keeping score. I know what we can't do, but can't we help each other feel good?"

Arya smiled and, biting her lower lip, she pumped her hand tentatively, trying to remember what Bellegere had taught her about pleasing men. 

Gendry moaned once more, and then said, "You can squeeze tighter, you won't hurt me."

Arya did as he instructed and the way his eyes closed rewarded her.

She experimented with the pressure and the pace, but she didn't need to worry about doing it wrong, since Gendry's hips helped her find the rhythm that was just right, and even his hand wrapped around hers to help her at the beginning. 

After a while, he lowered himself more, so his mouth was against the crook of her neck, nibbling her skin and moaning unintelligible things. It was a bit difficult for Arya to continue the steady pace with her hand working blindly, but she followed his cues, and given his ragged breath and pants, there was no criticism from his end. Gendry's right hand had suddenly come to her teat, squeezing a bit too hard, as he rubbed frantic circles on her nipple with his thumb. It was a bit harsher than the way he usually played with her breasts, but his roughness or mayhaps the desperation she could sense in him was doing something to her, enough to warrant her thighs squirming. 

Suddenly, he moaned her name and moved his face until he could crash his lips against hers in a sloppy kiss, that technically wasn't even a kiss, but a deep moan against her half-open lips. It was then that Arya felt it. The warm seed spilling on her belly. He jerked a few times, until he stilled, and then let himself fall on his back by her side. 

Arya felt a pleased smile bloom on her lips, and with eyes closed, she let her fingers come to touch the warm offering he had presented on her skin. She moved her fingers around, tracing a shape with the wetness. As her fingers moved and spread the seed around, Arya could feel some of it drying. She didn't notice when Gendry's breathing finally calmed down, but she was pulled from her reverie by his voice.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Arya stilled her fingers but kept her eyes closed as she giggled.

"Something like it," she replied, opening her eyes and turning her face to see him. "And you?"

Gendry laughed softly, and bringing his hand to the side of her face, he leaned in to kiss her softly. 

After the kiss ended, he nuzzled her nose with his for a moment before he spoke, "Far better than if I had enjoyed _myself_ , actually. Sorry about the mess."

He then sat up on the side of the bed. Picking up his shirt he wiped her abdomen. Arya closed her eyes again, bringing her arm behind her head. She heard him taking off his breeches, and then felt him unlacing hers and pulling them off her legs. She kept her eyes closed, feeling Gendry's hands on her legs, and later on her thighs, pushing them gently apart. Arya bit her lip in anticipation of the touch of the calloused pads of his fingers. When he finally caressed her furrow, it was not the rough touch of his fingertip, but instead a velvety and wet brush. 

Arya's eyes opened at once, and she lifted herself a bit, on her elbows, to find Gendry's head in between her legs, with his storm-blue eyes burning into hers. 

"What are you doing?"

"Attempting to please my wife, am I on the right track?"

Arya looked at him for a while, thinking as she bit her lip until she spoke, "I don't know yet."

"Do you want me to continue?"

Arya wasn't naive. She had learned enough of the act from her time serving Bellegere, but there was something about it that made her feel vulnerable, in a way she had always hated, but somehow, she didn't want to reject it immediately. 

"You don't have to do _that_."

"I know I don't _have to_ , but I want to if it feels good to you. So, does it?"

"Does it what?"

"Feel good."

"I'm not sure yet."

"Lie back down, and let's find out."

"Gendry," she said, unsure of what had prompted her to do so.

"Yes?"

"Is it… not bad for you?"

He laughed against her thigh, and Arya wanted to feel mad at him for it, but she couldn't.

"Not bad _at all,_ wife. I like the way you taste," he brought his mouth to her slit to make a point, and he let his tongue dip in between, tentatively. 

Arya felt herself warming up, and she relaxed and lay back. Gendry smiled and continued exploring her until his tongue moved up and found her bud. He flicked it lightly, but the way Arya tensed let him know that it did not have the effect he had intended. He brought the tip of his tongue to it again, and he circled it slowly, feeling Arya relaxing. 

He explored her for a bit, bringing his lips and his fingers along, mapping her reactions. He felt rewarded when her hand came to his head, and her fingers ran through his hair. After a while, when she was a bit desperate, her hand went to his nape, and she tried to pull him up. Gendry took the hint and trailed kisses as he went up her body.

"Something wrong?" he asked when his face was close to hers.

"I want your lips on mine."

"They _were_ ," he replied with a grin. 

" _Stupid_ ," she chastised him, pulling him down to a kiss.

When they parted, he smiled once more and asked, "Do _you_ like your taste?"

"Only on your lips."

"Good," he replied before capturing her mouth again.

"I like exploring you," he declared in between licks and kisses.

His fingers then continued the task his mouth had been performing, and a hot moan rewarded him. 

He continued without taking his eyes from hers, with two fingers sinking in her, while his thumb teased her bud. His index and middle fingers moved inside until his pads found a small patch of rougher skin. When his fingers hooked a bit, and rubbed against it, Arya's slight jerk and moan let him know that he ought to continue. 

Gendry went on, watching her face with half-lidded eyes, and rosy cheeks. There was nothing like it, keeping his eyes on her as her pleasure heightened, and she finally fell, coming undone.

Once he was confident that she had ridden the last wave, he took his fingers out, and brought his hand to the side of her face, to pull her to him for one last lazy kiss, before he turned her around, and dragged her to his chest, spooning her. 

They stayed like that, silently, enjoying the moment, falling into a placid sleep.

* * *

Wyman Manderly waited as he was announced before he was ushered into the most lavish of all the guest chambers at the New Keep. He ought to have felt offended, being summoned, and made to wait in his own castle. Life had taught him to take no offense to slights like those, just as he laughed along with his enemies, being the first to mock his obesity. He had shared his home and his table with three Freys, even granting the hands of his granddaughters to men from the house that had butchered his son along with his king. He honored guest rights and gifted each one a palfrey when they left his keep. What if no one knew where the three Frey men had gone once they left White Harbor? It did not matter. His hands were clean.

And his belly full.

His reminiscing ended as he was called into the vast chambers. 

Stannis looked up from the maps that were laid on a large rectangular table. He signaled something to the bearded man who always wore black leather gloves, and the man stood up, asking Wyman to take his seat. 

"You wanted to see me, your grace?"

"You told us of your plans in broad strokes, _very_ broad strokes. I want us to talk strategy and share our real plans."

"Without your good niece and your nephew?" Wyman asked, and the tone of his voice surprised him, clearly not done playing his part.

"My good niece's feelings about her family and the North are ardent, as expected. But sometimes, a dispassionate approach is needed."

"Evidently," Wyman replied, letting Stannis continue.

"You mentioned that several houses would back a Stark's claim to Winterfell and the North. Name them."

"Locke, Woolfield, Hornwood and Flint of Widow's Watch will follow my lead without question. It is highly likely Umbers, Glovers and Mormonts will as well, but the distance between White Harbor and their seats makes it hard to know for sure. Many more might be on the same boat. Many of us found each other at the wedding in Winterfell, doing what he had to survive. It's a mummer's farce, but the North has excellent players."

"You've talked about who would join us, tell me now of those who won't."

"Karstarks, Ryswells and Dustins," he replied at once. "Though Barbrey Dustin is hard to read. She has never held any love for the Starks, but she has her own bone to pick with the Boltons. She blames Ramsey for Domeric Bolton's death. He was her nephew, son of her late sister. Rumors are that he killed Roose's one true son so his father wouldn't have any other option than legitimizing him."

"Very well, then, Lord Wyman, what is your price?"

"For what, your grace?"

"To back my claim and help me rally the North behind my good niece and leave this nonsense behind about her youngest brother?"

There it was, out in the open. 

"It's not _just_ about your niece being the one the Northern houses rally behind, your grace. Any side that can prove to hold a true born Stark can change how the rest of the houses lean. Your good niece clearly wants to rejoin her surviving family members, and you may see that as a waste of your resources and men. The question is your grace, can you afford someone else to get one of her siblings and get the Northern support that you need?"

"So, I must send for every one of her siblings then?"

"The boy who was crippled went north, no one has heard from him, but even if he was the heir, he wouldn't rally enough support. Her sister was married to a Lannister, and fled King's Landing, after poisoning Joffrey Baratheon, if the Lannisters are to be believed. Nothing has been heard of her in years, but after being married to a lion, no one will take her for a wolf. Her half-brother, her father's bastard, is a brother of the Night's Watch. Against him are both the vows he took and his illegitimacy, but a _king_ could remedy both things. What is left is her youngest brother, Rickon, who was cared for by a wildling woman, and has spent all these years in an island whose inhabitants are believed to be cannibals. That's the one you cannot afford not to have with you. If you ask me, I'd say you must bring all of them into your fold, but if pressed, make sure to get the Skagosi wolf."

"Why haven't you gotten him yet yourself?"

"I would have if I had been able, but I had to be careful and play a part to ensure my remaining son was unharmed. The price I had to pay for his freedom was steep, and I would pay it a thousand times if I had to. Getting the young wolf is not as easy as sailing north to Skagos. It requires a skillful man who can get to places impossible to reach and negotiate with those who would not think twice before adorning his face with a smile from ear to ear. Tell me, your grace, do you have a loyal man with those skills?"

* * *

Gendry hadn't been happy to be awakened by the knocking on their chamber's door. He hadn't realized that they had fallen asleep in the middle of the day, after the intimate time they had shared. He was disoriented when he woke and turning towards the window, he could see they had slept most of the day.

It had been torture to peel himself off of his wife's soft and warm body. Not bothering to put on anything besides his breeches, he went to the door, only to be informed by one of the trident-wielding guards that the king was summoning him. 

After getting dressed again, he whispered in a sleepy Arya's ear that he'd be back after the meeting with his uncle, and he dropped a kiss on her naked shoulder. 

"What took you so long?" Stannis asked, looking up from the maps and parchments on the table.

"I was busy," he replied, unyielding in sharing more than he had to with his uncle, the king.

"Davos pointed out to me that you are fond of your wife."

Gendry looked at his uncle for a few moments until he realized he wasn't going to say anything more.

"I thought that was the _very least_ one should feel for their wife."

"Marriage is not about _that_. It is about duty."

Gendry huffed.

"You find that funny?"

Gendry forced himself to say, "No, your grace."

"You have not done your duty."

"To you?" Gendry asked, frowning.

"No," the king replied with exasperation, "not to me, but to your wife, and your house."

"How so?"

"Your wife's belly remains empty, despite the moonturns that have come to pass since your wedding."

And there it was, finally in the open the proof that he was nothing but a bull for breeding.

"We're in the middle of a war," he replied, trying to remain calm, "and you worry that I haven't gotten my wife with child yet?"

"The purpose of marriage is to make alliances between houses and ensure the continuity of one's name."

Gendry bit his tongue, feeling tricked. All his life, he had dreamed of having a name of his own, a true name, but right about then, it seemed that the Baratheon name had brought him more burden than his own bastard blood.

"So, this is just about continuing the Baratheon name?"

"Among other things," the king replied, making Gendry fear what the rest meant.

"In yours and your wife's case, it goes beyond that. The bastard of Bolton claims to have wed your bride himself."

"A fake Arya," Gendry pointed out.

"He'd say it's his word against yours."

"He can say whatever the _fuck_ he wants to say. I know who my wife is."

Stannis leaned back and stared at his nephew for a while. He then smiled and said, "What if he _believes_ you, that yours is the true Arya Stark?"

"What about that?"

"Ramsey could claim to have married her by proxy. What would you do when they demand you relinquish her as his marriage to her preceded yours?"

Gendry slammed his hand on the table.

"He's welcome to come and try it, I'll cave his head in before he can lay a finger on Arya."

This time is was Stannis' turn to huff.

"You see now the importance of her bearing you a son," he explained. " _Do your duty_."

The way Gendry's jaw tensed was not lost on Stannis.

"As you do yours?" he spat out.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just saying that for all your talk about _duty_ , you never seem to perform it, at least _not in your wife's bed_."

"For your information, the very same night we arrived at White Harbor, I did my duty in the queen's chambers."

"I'm sure it was as pleasurable as you make it sound."

The boy surprised him when he didn't seem to share his late brother's appetites, but still, every time he talked to him, Stannis felt the same frustration that he used to feel whenever he spoke with Robert. 

"I do not owe you any explanations, but everything I've done has been out of duty."

"Even with the _red witch?"_

"Even with Lady Melisandre, a _priestess_ of R'hllor."

"That didn't sound like duty to me." 

"And what about you? Not doing your duty with your wife."

Stannis stared at him, and Gendry knew he was not done.

"Nor with Lady Melisandre."

"Are you seriously calling me on rejecting your… priestess' advances?"

"Is she not to your liking?" Stannis asked, and it took Gendry a moment to realize that he asked without sarcasm.

"I do not think the issue here is how _appealing_ she is."

"Then what is it?"

Gendry leaned back and crossed his arms against his chest in a gesture that felt foreign.

"I will not betray the vows I made to my wife."

"Under any circumstances?"

"What circumstance would warrant betraying my wife?"

"Even if it meant you could give her back her home without bloodshed? If you could get her Winterfell back, without her having to risk her life in battle?"

Stannis knew he had hit a nerve when his nephew didn't have a quick reply, and his jaw went taut.

"I see that it gave you pause."

Gendry stood up, and he paced the room, but Stannis bid his time.

"You want me to fuck a shadow in your priestess?" he finally asked.

" _Shadowbinding_."

"What you did to kill your brother."

It was not lost in Stannis that there was no question in the air, but he had spent years getting to know the ghosts that would haunt them until the end of his days.

"I did not know it would end with Renly's death," he explained, more to himself than to the bastard he had begrudgingly agreed to tolerate. "Whatever the price, it was for duty. I did it. You ought to do the same. I've done as much as I can, but there's no more fire left in me."

Gendry was not sure if those words were uttered as a lamentation or as an argument to get him to take his uncle's place in between Melisandre's legs.

"Think about it."

Gendry didn't reply but stood up to leave.

* * *

It was already dusk by the time he made it back to their chambers.

"What did dear uncle Stannis want?" Arya asked once he was back in their rooms.

Arya had clearly risen from bed, but she didn't bother to dress again, instead opting to wear one of Gendry's shirts and nothing else.

He could have jested about it, but Gendry reckoned he had lost his right to do so when he had ripped her dress in two, earlier that day.

"Nothing worth repeating," he explained.

"You're not going to tell me?"

Gendry looked up, and enough was shared with one look.

"Even if I won't like it, you are going to tell me."

"Why?"

"Because there are no secrets between us, not anymore."

Gendry sighed and resigned himself to repeating things that left a bad taste in his mouth.

"My dear uncle wanted to know why I'm not doing my duty," he explained as he sat down on the bed to take off his boots, and Arya sat down next to him.

"You're fighting his cause, what duty are you not performing?"

"To start, the one to my wife," Gendry stated, finishing with his boots and turning to face her.

Arya knitted her eyebrows. 

"Shouldn't _I_ be the one to judge that?"

"Not according to _his grace._ " He added, and for good measure, Gendry looked down to her lap and even tugged at the linen shirt.

He stood up and paced the room for a bit until he stopped and turning towards Arya he finally spoke.

"He wanted to know why I haven't secured an _heir_ to House Baratheon." 

"Oh, _that_?" Arya exclaimed. "First the red witch and now him?"

"I told you it was not worth bringing it up." 

Arya stood up and came to stand in front of him.

"So, it is not just you who is not doing his duty."

Gendry gathered her in his arms, and he let his forehead rest on her shoulder. Arya knew it was a bit ridiculous, the way he had to bent down, but she also recognized the need for comfort.

"The king and House Baratheon can go _fuck themselves_ , I'm not going to get you with child just because he wishes it," he mumbled against her shoulder, as Arya ran her fingers through his black hair.

His silence let Arya know that there was something else.

"That's not all, is it?"

He reluctantly let her go and paced the room some more. What Stannis had said about the Boltons demanding Arya be given to them, arguing that the marriage to the fake Arya was a wedding by proxy and having priority to their own was eating at him. He thought for a moment before speaking, choosing not to share that bit, despite what Arya had said about secrets.

"You'll like it less," he said instead.

"I find it difficult."

"He mentioned that I can also do my duty agreeing to f-," Gendry stopped himself then, and then continued, " _bed_ Melisandre."

Arya could not believe what he was saying.

"I reacted the same," he explained, turning to see her scrunched up face. " _Shadowbinding_ , what you said before. He mentioned that it was my duty to do as much as I can."

"What did you respond?"

He continued pacing.

"That I would never betray you, you know this. But…"

"But what?"

"He asked if I would do it if it meant we could defeat our enemies without bloodshed. Without you getting in harm's way."

Gendry was avoiding her eyes. Arya knew him enough not to know what ideas were surely brewing in his mind.

"Have I ever given you any reason to consider I am helpless?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No."

"Then why would you even entertain the idea of going to bed with her?"

It wasn't until Arya's words had left her mouth that her thoughts seemed to answer her own question.

"Unless it is _not just_ about making shadows."

"No!" Gendry yelled, and he pulled her to his arms, tilting her chin with his fingers to make sure she was looking into his eyes as he spoke. "You know it is not. I do not want _her_."

Arya buried her head in his chest and stayed there for a bit while Gendry gently rubbed her lower back. 

"I said no," he reiterated, with his chin on top of her head.

"But you are still considering it," she replied, peeling herself from him, so Gendry could see her eyes as she spoke.

"You cannot believe that."

"I _know_ ," Arya murmured. "I know you well enough to be certain."

Arya climbed into bed and turned away, bringing her legs up to her chest. She heard Gendry walking around, blowing off the candles, and ridding himself off his clothes. After a while, the mattress dipped. He sat down on it, and the blankets were pulled back, as Gendry got under them. Then, she felt him move until he was close to her.

Gendry's hand came to her middle, and he pulled her gently towards him. 

"Even if you're mad at me, don't stay away, please."

"I'm not mad at you," she replied, turning in his arms and resting her head on his chest. "Don't go to her, _please_."

"She's not the one I want," he reiterated, coaxing her to face him.

Arya's big wide eyes seemed to ask a question.

"And she is not the one I pledged myself to in front of your gods."

After saying that, he brought his lips to hers, and he kissed her softly. 

When they parted, Arya rested her head back on his chest, and Gendry dropped one last kiss on her hairline. They went to sleep like that, fears still under their skin, and doubts they didn't dare say out loud. 

Neither let go all through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I have to admit, I was worried that this chapter was just an info dump. Let me know what your thoughts are. 
> 
> I think I have to default to a two-week posting schedule for the next two chapters. Thank you all for your patience!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravens fly to White Harbor, and riders bring news from nearby houses. Little by little, the pieces come together to plot the next step in their strategy. Arya is itching to journey north, but her heart is split in two. Prophecies are revisited, and Gendry vows to uphold his promises, some made long before they were joined by the red god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!

[ ](https://imgur.com/8REncZU)

Gendry recognized the dream the moment he could see the small and almost empty room. 

After all, he had it before, thousands of times as he grew up, sleeping in the small cot in the back of Tobho's shop, and then later as he marched north. The dream stopped at Harrenhal, as other nightmares took its place. It resumed later, though, when Gendry was knighted, and he joined the brotherhood. 

But then the dream stopped coming to him altogether when Arya ran away.

Even if Gendry hadn't had the dream since he started considering himself a man, he remembered well the reward that was just about to be waved in front of him once more.

His hand came to rub the sleep off of his eyes, and he was surprised to find the skin of his face soft, instead of the weathered texture of his forehead, and the abrasiveness of his stubbled cheek. 

A shape moved ahead of him on the other side of the room. She had her back turned to him as she was busy doing something. Gendry felt the well-known need in his chest, a painful wound that was reopening. He willed her to turn and let him see her face. After thousands of repetitions, he should have known better than to expect her to abandon her chores and turn around, but his heart was stubborn.

She moved around, always busy, despite how futile her efforts were: the room would still be sparse, and food would always be scarce. She continued to hide her face from the boy, only letting him see her from the back, clad in a simple dress with long brown skirts. She was barefoot, and her long yellow hair fell down loose, reaching her waist.

"If your father was here," she chided him with her stern voice, so different from when she sang him to sleep, "he'd beat you, so you'd know not to go picking fights with the older boys."

In the memory that birthed the dream, Gendry sulked quietly during the scolding. Still, the grown man inside him remembered that even back then, he understood that if his father were there, those boys wouldn't call his mother what they did, and he would have never gotten into scuffles anyway.

_'Better he's not here,'_ he thought, _'or it would be me to beat him bloody.'_

Gendry walked towards her, hoping that maybe that time he'd reach her and make her turn to let him see her face, just for a second, to commit it to memory.

But he was stopped as he walked, when the wooden door creaked as it opened suddenly, making her turn away from her son.

Gendry was surprised by the new development in the dream, as it never had anyone in it but him and his mother.

"Your father is here," his mother announced, still looking away.

When the door opened, a tall man with a hooded cloak came in. He walked towards his mother, and took her in his arms, kissing her, but his hood obscured both of their faces. Gendry felt the flames of his heart raging as the man who had never cared about him kept the face he ached to see all to himself.

When his mother moved away to continue with her chores, the man let the cloak fall to the floor, revealing a broad back and short black hair, right before he turned.

Gendry didn't care for that dream. 

Robert Baratheon was not the one he craved to see.

The man turned, slowly, and, as he stepped into the light, Gendry was finally able to see the face that had always stared back in the mirror. He closed his eyes, brushing them with his calloused hand. Once more, his fingers touched the hardened skin and prickly stubble. When he opened his eyes, the modest bed with its straw mattress was in front of him, empty.

No sad black-haired boy that looked far older than his years.

Gendry looked around, but there was no one in the room.

The fire inside him died down once more into an ember.

A blur of movement distracted him from his sorrow, along with the sound of vegetables being chopped on the other side of the room.

Gendry was suddenly in the kitchen at the Crossroads, and the woman who was busy cooking was no longer his mother. She seemed smaller, and her hair was not yellow and loose, but brown, and braided into a long plait.

"Your son is restless," she yelled with that voice of hers that made the steel inside of his chest sing, as she let the knife on the counter, and she turned around. The beautiful face of his wife surprised him, but not as much as the prominent swell of his child in her womb. 

Gendry walked to Arya and kissed her as if it had been a thousand years since the last time he had her in his arms. All the while, his hands busied themselves, caressing her belly. He was soon rewarded with the sharp kick of the babe against his palm, making him laugh with pride, still against her mouth. 

She wasn't as happy, though, and she pushed him away.

"Don't be so smug about it! By the old gods and the new, I'm sure you wouldn't feel the same if you had been carrying a giant's spawn inside, and he kicked you day and night!"

"I'm sorry, love," Gendry said, wrapping her again in his arms, this time from behind. His head rested on her shoulder as his mouth kissed her neck and jaw.

"You _should_ _be sorry_ since it was you who got me like this."

"Oh, it was me?" he replied, not being able to resist the chance to tease her. "I seem to recall you moaning in my ear _'Gendry, spill inside me.'_ "

Arya elbowed him in the gut, and while he was momentarily out of breath, he noted she hadn't hit him as hard as she could.

Despite not having enough air to speak or adequately laugh, he pulled her back to him and kissed her hard until she seemed to mellow in his arms. They finally parted to breathe, but they stayed embracing, forehead to forehead, while they both giggled like children. 

When they finally opened their eyes, he was pleased by the sight of her face, with her nose, swollen from carrying their child, and her cheeks kissed by the sun.

He would have pulled her to their straw mattress, to take turns massaging her aching swollen feet and loving her some more, but the sound of horns from outside pulled them away from their moment. 

When they made it outside of the inn, they stayed frozen, seeking each other's hands, as they saw a host of more than a thousand men and horses, and at the front of them all, a red stain looming closer and closer. 

* * *

Gendry woke up with a sudden jolt. 

He sat up, on the large bed, his chest clammy and the sheets sticking to his skin. He drew a large breath, but he still felt like he was drowning. The cold breeze came in through the window and made the sweat on his body sting like ice. He could feel the cold of the North at the base of his spine, and it did not go away until Arya's warm hand went up and down his back.

"What was it?" She asked.

"Nothing," he replied, turning towards her, letting his head fall on her chest.

Arya had to lay back down, and felt Gendry wrap himself around her, his left leg coming over hers, and his arms holding on. Her hand came to his damp black hair, trying to soothe him. 

They had gone to sleep entwined, but Gendry had felt her far, doubt keeping them apart. And yet, his wife comforted him as he shook from a nightmare like a little boy. 

"It didn't sound like nothing," Arya pressed. "Tell me."

"A nightmare."

"I knew that much already. Tell me what it was."

Gendry lifted his head to face her, and he felt again like a child who didn't have the right words to explain to his mother what he felt.

Arya placed her small hand on his jaw, and she steered him to her lips, kissing him slowly, not with the hunger that had been present in all their recent encounters, but with something else, sweet and languid.

When they parted, Gendry sat back up, shaking his head and trying to make the memories fade. 

"An old dream. One I used to have long ago. I guess it must have been a memory from when I was little. My mother scolding me because I got into a fight, but I couldn't see her face. I always woke up just before she turned to me."

Arya climbed onto his lap, and her arms went around his neck.

"I'm sorry you couldn't see her, though it doesn't sound like too bad of a dream."

"No, not that part," Gendry agreed. "My mother told me my father would beat some sense into me, and then the door opened."

"You dreamed of Robert?"

"No, not really," Gendry explained, with his hands circling her waist. "He came in, and when he took off the hooded cloak he wore, it wasn't Robert but me, and it wasn't my mother either, but you, chopping vegetables in the kitchen at the Crossroads Inn."

Gendry remained silent for a moment, looking down.

"And?"

He hadn't noticed that his thumb was rubbing circles on Arya's naked belly. He noted

the stark contrast of her flat tummy compared to the one from his dream.

He exhaled loudly and continued.

"And you were swollen with our child," he said, braving to look at her in the eye.

Arya stared impassible for a moment before she spoke, "it still sounds like a lovely dream. What happened next?"

Gendry leaned in to kiss her because she said that a dream where they expected a babe while they seemed to live placidly in the Riverlands, without anyone knowing their names, was a lovely dream. 

"And then the sound of horns made us go outside, to see Stannis' army approaching, with the red woman at the front."

Words didn't come to Arya's mouth. 

She did the only thing that could convey her feelings, and placing her hands on either side of his face, she brought her lips to his, in a slow, comforting kiss. 

"It was just a nightmare, we won't give in to her," she said when the kiss was over. 

"I will not go to her," Gendry vowed, holding on to the back of her head. "No matter what, I promise."

They lay back down, embracing each other, and Gendry's fingers moved slowly on her skin, from her back to her waist and then her hip, and then back again. Arya could still sense his uneasiness, something furtive crouching in his chest, waiting for the right time to leap.

"Something is eating at you. Is there anything else?"

"No, just the stupid dream," he said, sitting up and letting his feet fall to the floor.

Gendry bent to pick up his discarded clothes, and he started to get dressed.

"Where are you going? Dawn hasn't broken yet."

Gendry stood up, wearing only his breeches, and he walked to their trunk to fetch a shirt. 

"I need to go find a smithy," he explained, walking back to the bed, and donning the simple shirt. "There has to be one in this keep."

Arya sat up then, unconcerned with the way the sheets slid down baring her breasts, and she extended her arm as she spoke, "Stay here with me, I can help you forget it."

Gendry set one knee on the bed, and he leaned in to kiss her. His hand settled on her naked hip, while hers set on his jaw, with her thumb brushing his stubbled cheek.

For a moment, Arya thought that he'd come back to bed with her, but then the kiss ended, and he moved away. 

He must have seen the question in her eyes, for he said, "I will not take this out on you. I need to beat something to rid the sourness that dream brought me."

"I know you don't intend on hitting me as you do the steel."

"No, but tempting as your offer is, I don't want what I'm feeling now… those thoughts and feelings… I don't want them in our bed."

"Not yet six moonturns of marriage, and already you reject me?"

Gendry leaned in once more, but this time it was to hook his arm around her lower back to pull her to him. He lifted her off their bed, and he kissed her fervidly as Arya's legs wrapped around his hips. A gentle breeze reminded her of her nakedness in Gendry's arms while he was fully clothed. For some reason, that made her skin tingle. 

"Not at all," he said, parting from her lips. "I haven't had my fill of you yet, and I suspect I never will."

"Still, you leave me for the forge," she said feigning offense, as Gendry eased her to her feet.

"It's not rejection, m'lady. A _promise_. Go back to bed, and dream of us in Winterfell. I'll join you in our bed once I've beaten the fury out of me."

"You'll come to me, right after the forge? Do you promise?" she asked, sitting on the bed.

"I thought of going to the baths before."

"Don't."

"My lady wife prefers me in soot and sweat?"

"I thought that we could bathe together."

Arya stared as he finished lacing his boots.

He then stood up, and taking one last look towards her, he smiled and left, searching for a forge. 

Arya didn't go back to bed as Gendry had asked her, despite how tempting it sounded to wait for him that way. Instead, she donned a pair of breeches, a tunic, and her boots, and she left towards the city walls to welcome Nymeria back. On her way out, she asked a servant girl for a bathtub to be brought to their chambers. 

* * *

Gendry walked towards his room, feeling the burn in the muscles of his arms. 

It felt good.

It had been long since he had recited names to punctuate the song of steel, but this time it had been more than that. It was smashing every doubt in his mind, flattening it until it became nothing. 

He opened the door slowly, not wanting to wake Arya. It was still early, even if he had been at the keep smithy for almost three hours. He found it while it was still dark, and the apprentice boys were busy getting the fires hot. Gendry asked if he could help, and the master smith had eyed him suspiciously, but when he had taken his shirt off and had gone directly to the bellows, breaking a sweat, he accepted. 

His shirt stuck to his sweaty skin, and he could feel the film of soot on his face and chest. He hadn't even used the bucket of water and the rag at the smithy as Arya had told him to come directly to him, and that was what he was going to do, and tease her for wanting him dirty. 

To his disappointment, the room was empty, but there was a silver bathtub in the middle of the room, filled only halfway. He dipped his fingers in the water, finding it still hot. 

It was then that Arya came into the room, holding two buckets of steaming water, and behind her, a couple of girls followed her with buckets of their own. She smiled when she saw him and quickly dumped the water in the tub, instructing the girls to do the same. A third girl came in after, and she poured oils and some sweet-smelling herbs in the water. 

Gendry felt uncomfortable waiting as the young girls were busy, fixing their bath while Arya sat on a chair, unlacing her boots and jerkin.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to take off your clothes? You certainly look like you need a bath."

The girls surely knew what happened between them at night, as they were the same girls who tidied their room the previous day, and Arya was his wife, but still, he could not stop himself from blushing.

"I'm sorry," Arya said, addressing the servant girls, "but my lord husband is shy, and he doesn't want you to know that we will be taking a bath together."

The girls giggled, gathering their buckets as they left. Only when the door closed behind them, Gendry then started shedding his shirt and unlacing his boots, looking away from Arya. By the time he was barefoot and started taking off his breeches, a splash of water on his back startled him. 

"What was that for?" He asked, and then he splash water on his face and arms, rubbing the dirt off his skin.

"You're scowling,” she replied from the bath.

"Well, I was supposed to find you naked in bed, and instead, my wife made fun of me in front of some girls," he said right before climbing in the tub and sitting across from her.

"Since when are you such a prude? I seem to remember you didn't have a problem taking your cock out when we were on the kingsroad."

"That was different."

"How come?"

"Just drop it,” he cautioned her.

"They know we fuck."

"We _do not_ _fuck_."

Arya's eyebrows rose, and Gendry leaned in to pull her to his side, with her back against his chest. Arya leaned her head back, over his right shoulder, and she let her eyes close.

"This is nice," Gendry said, as his fingers brushed her torso under the water. 

"Are you feeling better?" She asked, turning her head enough to whisper the words against his neck.

"I am. Where did you go?"

"I went to find Nymeria," her tone sobered up. Gone was the teasing from before, and her penchant for sharing her every thought with him.

Gendry brought his hand up to her neck, and he gently tilted her face back to be able to see it. 

"What's wrong? Is Nymeria alright?"

"She is. Her belly is full, and she's pacing in the courtyard."

"But?"

"But, this is no place for wolves."

"Do you still doubt Lord Wyman?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what?"

"Nymeria is restless."

"Are _you_ restless?" Gendry asked.

"Yes."

"You are eager to leave."

"There is so much that I've learned about my family. I thought my little brothers were dead, and now I know they lived. We need to go north."

"I promised you that we'll make it there this time."

"It's not only that. We need to be there _soon_."

"Then what is it?"

Arya swallowed the lump in her throat, and then she responded, "Do you remember what the Ghost of High Heart said?"

It was a conscious effort for Gendry not to think about what the crone had said to Arya all the time. Those words reawakened his fear of losing her. 

"Aye."

"I didn't think about it before. Not even when Howland told us about Jon. I thought Jon was supposed to be one of the wolves in her prophecy, but Jon is not just a wolf, he's a _dragon_ by birth."

Her eyes looked up to him, with unshed tears in them, and they tugged at his heart, but he saw it clearly, how the prophecy was making the most fearless person he knew afraid.

" _A hidden dragon_ ," Gendry said, remembering how the words had spilled out of pale lips.

" _Dying_ in the snow," Arya added.

Gendry pulled her closer in his arms, so they could see each other’s eyes. He had vowed to keep her from harm and sorrow, but what could a simple mortal man do against a prophecy?

"We won't let it come to pass."

"We must go as soon as possible," she said against his chest.

"Listen to me, Arya," he said, "nothing will happen to him."

"I want to go to Skagos to get Rickon back, but I can't afford to be late again. When I got to the Twins, it was too late for Robb. I can't let that happen to Jon."

"We'll go to Castle Black first." 

* * *

Three days later, the red priestess was summoned by her king as soon as the dawn broke. Melisandre knew full well why she had been called, as she had spent the night outside, praying for a sign. 

"Your grace," the red woman greeted the king with a deep curtsy. 

"Lady Melisandre, come in," Stannis addressed her, signaling for her to come to join him. 

"What has the Lord of Light told you during your nightfires?"

Melisandre took a deep breath. It had been a very long time since she had felt old. She longed for the days when she was newly-arrived at Dragonstone, and the fires had been vividly clear. Back in Asshai, she had always excelled in spying R'hllor's half-hidden messages in the flames, and the one true God rewarded her with the talent of interpreting his designs. 

But then the Blackwater defeat came, and later the prophecy of the wolf and the stag. 

How long had it been since she had seen her king in the flames as the chosen one?

"What is it then? I cannot stay here doing nothing and lose all that we've gained. So tell me, Lady Melisandre, what has _your_ god shown?"

She couldn't keep this from him any longer.

" _Snow_. He shows me nothing more."

"Are you mocking me?" the king asked, leaning in with his palm splayed over the leather maps.

"No, my king. It is the will of R'hllor."

"What does it mean, then?"

_'I don't know,'_ she wanted to answer, but that had never been a choice for her, and instead, she spoke, with the steadiest voice she could muster, "The Wall. We must go to the Wall, where there is only snow as far as the eye reaches."

"You are certain this is the way to victory?"

"I am sure, your grace."

"You may go."

The king saw her turn around after bowing to him, the red silk gliding over the polished floors of the New Keep. He exhaled and the image of his older brother, on the Iron Throne, cheeks and nose red from his drunken stupor, and a sheen of sweat over his flabby chest, with his shirt open, showing his overextended gut.

Robert never needed the help of the gods.

Robert got it all without trying and without wanting. 

He got the Iron Throne without deserving it, and he sat on it to grow fat, his only duties drinking and whoring.

Robert never understood privilege and duty. At least, not like Stannis did.

Robert sired too many sons to count, all lusty babes, like Gendry who survived in squalor, untouched by disease despite Robert never lifting a finger. 

And yet the gods had denied Stannis of living heirs. 

The boy he had taken in and legitimized, because of what the Lord of Light had shown Melisandre in the flames, could have been his trueborn son if the gods were fair. Stannis had done more for him in the few moonturns since they met than what Robert had done for him in all his useless life. And yet, the boy had to follow in his father's steps with his love for the Starks. Robert had been the same, first with Ned and then with his sister. 

Robert had never been the protagonist of any prophecy, but he was the victor of luck. 

It was him, Stannis, who followed laws and duty. 

He, the one that was meant to sit on the Iron Throne and not Robert.

The true God had dictated it, and Stannis had heeded his call. 

But the dutiful son is never the hero in the ballads.

* * *

It took over a sennight for the first one of the ravens with replies to Davos, and Wyman's inquiries to arrive. Riders had been sent to nearby houses sworn to House Manderly as well, and they had returned already with pledges to join their cause, faithful to Lord Manderly's word. 

And all through it, Arya continued to grow restless, but Stannis refused to leave until they had all the information necessary to plot their strategy. The only balm being the time she had to spend with Shireen and the Manderly sisters. Wynafryd and Wylla had taken her good cousin under their wing from the moment Selyse and their men had arrived at White Harbor. Shireen had even grown to let both sisters braid her hair on a side plait, no longer hiding the greyscale on her face. It was a huge step forward, even if Shireen would undo it and pull the hair back on her face whenever her mother or father was around. But Arya had noticed how fondly Ser Davos looked towards Shireen, with her hair on her side plait, smiling broadly. 

Sensing Arya's disquiet, Wynafryd suggested walking to the harbor, to a stretch of shore under a pier where both her direwolf and she could be free, at least for a morning. All three girls observed with delight how Arya played with the enormous animal as if Nymeria were a small pup. 

As Arya scratched behind Nym's ear, the direwolf nuzzled her midsection, tickling Arya enough to giggle. 

"She's not a pup, Arya!" Shireen exclaimed.

"No, she's not, she's a big scary girl, aren't you, Nym?" 

"Well, not with you, she's not!" Wynafryd added. 

"Well, if you ask me, Arya has a way to get big beasts to bend to her every whim," Wylla said, punctuating her comment with a wink that made her sister laugh and Shireen blush a deep crimson. 

Arya rolled her eyes.

"Really, Wylla?"

"Have mercy with us, Arya, not everyone can be betrothed to a strapping young man. Tell us, please, do those broad shoulders look as good when he removes his tunic?"

"Wylla! Gendry is my cousin!"

"I'm sorry, Shireen. It's not fair that you can't appreciate just how handsome he is because you are related."

"Wyn, tell your sister to stop torturing my good cousin."

"It's all in good fun, Arya," Wylla excused herself. "Pity all of us who were not as lucky as you in their betrothals."

Arya turned her attention away from Nymeria to look at Wylla.

"Are you promised to someone?"

"We both were," Wylla replied.

"We _still_ are," her sister added.

"Wyn, they're dead."

"They are _missing_ , it's different."

"Who were your betrothed to?”

“Rhaegar Frey,” Wynafryd answered.

Then, Arya turned to Wylla, who added, "Walder Frey. The little one."

Arya laughed, confusing all three girls.

"What is it?" Shireen asked.

"I was as well. Elmar Frey. My brother Robb had to promise we both would marry into the Freys as payment for their bridge."

"How did you get out of it?"

"It was easy since I never knew about it. At the time, I roamed the Riverlands with Gendry, and then my brother broke his own betrothal. I actually met him once, at Harrenhal. He even mentioned his failed betrothal. I never imagined he meant me."

"What about you, Shireen? Have you been promised to any high lord?" Wylla inquired.

Shireen clammed up at the question, looking down to where her fingers dug in the sand.

"No, Father keeps saying that once he sits on the Iron Throne, he will find the best match for me, but I know it means that no one wants to marry me until they know for sure my father is king."

Arya spoke next, "Any lord would be lucky to marry you."

"What happened to your betrothed?" Shireen asked the sisters instead, changing the conversation.

"They left for the Bolton wedding ahead of Grandfather, but they never made it there," Wylla replied, raising one eyebrow.

"What do you think happened to them?" Shireen asked, and both Manderly sisters shared a look. 

"We don't know," Wynafryd was quick to answer, cutting off her sister, who seemed to be about to say something. 

Arya didn't miss the exchange between them, and she made a mental note to ask Lord Manderly about it. 

"How did you end up married to Gendry? Was it when you were roaming the Riverlands?" Wynafryd asked.

"No. I was a little girl, pretending to be a boy back then. We parted ways years ago. I went… away, and only recently came back and ran into him. King Stannis found us both in the inn at the Crossroads. His red priestess saw a prophecy about us marrying."

The green-haired Manderly seemed intrigued and said, "And you just agreed because a foreign witch said you were supposed to marry?"

"No," Arya replied, knowing that she was asking more than that. "I always feared being married off for political reasons. In the end, I couldn't run away from it, but I made sure to broker my own political alliance. You can do that as well. You _all_ can do that."

"Wouldn't we be that lucky," Wynafryd added, "if we could marry someone we _already_ love."

Arya turned toward the ocean, letting the sea breeze cool her cheeks down. 

"Gendry was my friend, and he still is the only one I trust." 

* * *

Later that day, the king called a strategy meeting, so Ser Davos and Lord Wyman could share what they had learned from their contacts. 

"As I promised it, we've received pledges from Lockes, Woolfields, Flints of Widow's Watch, and those loyal to the late House Hornwood. These houses will grow your numbers, but more than that, they will be deducted them from the Boltons," Wyman explained.

Stannis nodded, and then he turned across the table to where Davos Seaworth sat.

"What of the rest?"

"The young Lyanna Mormont, who I believe to be just four and ten, has written to us, and I quote _'House Mormont recognizes no king but the king in the North whose name is Stark. Queen Arya Stark, as a matter of fact._ '"

"The one in Winterfell?" Wyman asked.

"No, the one who roamed the Riverlands alongside a direwolf. She recognizes no other king, but she said that if her queen commands her to join the cause, the less than sixty warrior men and women left at Bear Island will join us."

Arya’s skin prickled.

King Stannis grimaced and asked, "A girl of five and ten? And sixty men?"

"And _women_ ," Arya replied.

The king continued grinding his teeth, "Why is a child acting lady of House Mormont."

"Dacey, the heir perished at the Red Wedding, along with my son and King Robb. Alysane is the heir, she's been fighting, last I heard she was in the company of Asha Greyjoy. I haven't heard of Lyra and Jorelle, her sisters, but the youngest bear holds Bear Island as its lady," Lord Wyman explained.

"What of Lady Maege?" Arya asked, trying to keep her tone even.

Wyman replied, "The last anyone heard of her was that she came north before the Red Wedding, but she never made it home. Nothing else is known."

"What else?" The king asked.

"The Umbers have joined our cause. And I have received a response from Salladhor Saan," Ser Davos continued. "He has been getting us the men for Lord Wyman's fleet."

"And the Iron Bank?" Ser Axell inquired.

"Salla believes that what we have accomplished should be enough for the Iron Bank to be interested in loaning us the coin to pay for sellswords and men, but we must send someone to deal with them."

"I can go," Ser Axell volunteered.

"No," Stannis was quick to reply. "At least not on your own, Ser Andrew, you will accompany my good uncle to Braavos."

Both men acknowledged the command with a nod.

"What is our plan, then?" Lord Wylis asked. 

"Bolton has remained where he is because he holds support from all the North. _Support_ , he calls it, I call it _fear_. It matters not. He may be backed by the Lannisters, but here in the North, he is allowed to stay where he is because we Northerners had lacked command, but not anymore. We have allies south and north of Winterfell. And there are still allies to make," Wyman explained.

"We can march to Winterfell then? Bide our time until we have support from Essos?" Ser Axell proposed.

"No!" Arya yelled, her hand grasping the edge of the finely-carved weirwood table. "We must sail north."

"But we can ambush him," Ser Axell insisted.

"No! We need to go north, to the Wall."

"Whatever for?"

"To aid the Night's Watch, Ser Axell," Gendry explained, "It was always the plan." 

"It was when we didn't have support from the North. Situation has changed."

"But the Night's Watch needs us!" Arya insisted, her nails digging into the wood.

Gendry covered her hand with his, and his fingers intertwined with hers as he spoke, "Arya's brother is there."

"So we must go only to save your brother, my lady?" Ser Axell asked her.

Arya's jaw tensed, but before she answered, the king intervened, "I side with my good niece."

"Why?"

"There are still allies to make," Stannis said to his wife's uncle, using Lord Wyman's words.

"The Mountain clans," Wyman Manderly added. 

"What does the Lord of Light say?" Axell asked Lady Melisandre. 

The priestess cleared her throat and replied, "We are to sail to Eastwatch, and then journey to Castle Black. R'hllor has shown it to me in the nightfires."

"Someone must go to Skagos," Arya added.

"What's in Skagos?" Ser Axell inquired.

"My younger brother."

Stannis shared a look with Melisandre and then said, "It is important to you. What is there for us in Skagos?"

"You _must_ get my brother."

Gendry could feel his blood boil.

"You made sure to make us family through marriage," he said, addressing his uncle. "Arya's brother is _my_ family, and _yours_ through the marriage _you_ wanted. You cannot deny that."

Lord Wyman stared at King Stannis in silence, his eyes narrowing.

Stannis seemed to be considering something, and then he nodded towards Arya and Gendry.

"Very well then, Ser Davos will go to Skagos to fetch your brother. They can meet us at Castle Black later."

Arya exhaled then, and Gendry squeezed her hand. 

"Is that a good idea?" Ser Axell asked once more. 

The king took a breath and said, "As Lord Wyman mentioned, there are still allies to be made. Bringing back Rickon Stark is the first priority, but if Ser Davos can get the Skagosi to back our cause, we will be better for it."

Ser Axell let out a forced laugh, "They are known to be cannibals, we don't even know if they haven't eaten her brother already."

Arya's hand went to her side, where her dagger was strapped to her hip, but Gendry held on to her wrist. 

"My brother is alive. I know this for sure."

"How?" Melisandre inquired, raising one eyebrow.

"A ghost told me."

"You have to be kidding me," Ser Axell Florent said, shaking his head.

"Really?" Gendry inquired. "You have come this far because of Lady Melisandre's fires, and you question who my wife gets her prophecies from?"

Ser Axell stayed silent.

"It is decided then," Stannis said.

"How soon can we leave?" Arya asked.

"As soon as Salla gets here," Ser Davos replied. "A sennight at most."

* * *

Alayne Stone lifted her goblet to her mouth, but while she tipped it slightly, she made sure to keep her lips pursed, so the red wine only stained them. The ruse allowed her to observe the Great Hall of the Gates of the Moon, at lords, ladies, and hedge knights gathered for the feast of the Tourney of the Winged Knights. Placing the goblet on the table, and turning to her right, her father was approaching her. The regent lord of the Vale had come down from the dais to sit next to her. He stared as she looked around behind her goblet, and his thin lips curled to only one side. Alayne smiled back, feigning innocence.

"Is the wine to your liking, _sweetling_?"

"It is, _Father_. The dancing made me thirsty."

"Didn't I tell you everyone would line up to dance with you?"

"You did."

She had already danced with Ben Coldwater, Andrew Tollett, Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and all three Sunderlands men. Alayne had asked for a break, with the excuse of needing a moment to have a bit of Dornish red. Still, there was a long line of lords and knights waiting to dance with her. Among the men looking her way was Harrold Hardyng, ' _Harry, the heir_ ,' her lord father had told her he'd ask for her favor at the tourney, but she was to deny him. Right then, she noticed that Harry was walking towards her table, and Lord Baelish looked to him and then back at her, and then to an orange-haired knight walking towards her on the opposite side. 

It was enough for her to know.

Alayne stood up and walked towards Lord Shadrich without looking back at her intended.

"My lady," the knight with the beady eyes and the ginger hair greeted her.

"Ser, you had asked for a dance?"

"Is your throat less parched, my lady, that you can honor me?"

"It is. Please, lead the way."

Once Ser Shadrich's hand was set on her waist, and they started swaying to the tune the band was playing, Alayne had the chance to look towards her almost betrothed, out of the corner of her eye, and she saw him following her every movement. She could also see that her lord father had gone back to his place at the dais, palming his well-groomed beard with a subtle smile.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady? Is this your first tourney?" Ser Shadrich inquired.

A rogue memory came to her, but Alayne was able to squash it down.

"Yes, my _very first_. I am excited."

"I am glad," the fox-like knight replied, and then, narrowing his eyes, he added, "I believe we may have an acquaintance in common, someone _looking_ _for_ you."

Alayne swallowed her uneasiness.

"Do you, Ser? Could it mayhaps be someone from the faith? As you know, I was brought up 

at a motherhouse."

Ser Shadrich smiled.

"No, quite the opposite. _She_ told me she was looking for you. I may be confused, but I was of the assumption that she was _your sister._ "

Alayne thought of a little tomboyish girl that used to annoy her in a previous life, but she pushed the thought back to where it came from, afraid to face her ghosts. 

"You are mistaken, Ser. I am an only child, my mother died birthing me."

"Are you certain? This young lady wore armor and a sword at her hip."

" _A…_ ," a dead girl's voice blurted out, but Alayne took over, "a lady knight? I'd love to see that, I'm sure that is quite the sight. You can imagine my experiences were minimal at the motherhouse. I'm a simple girl, Ser."

"Oh, but you _are_ a lord's daughter, are you not?"

Alayne wavered, and Sansa swallowed.

"In any case, this lady is beside herself looking for her lost sister, and I, having taken vows to protect the defenseless, reckoned it was my duty to help find this lost girl, and then, of course, there is always a chance of a reward. Are you certain then that you are not the girl in question?"

Alayne had no doubt that the knight leading her in dance knew very well what he was saying, and she allowed the whim of a girl with long auburn locks who once went to a tourney with her lord father emerge. She wondered if the sister she once thought dead could be this lady knight since she used to play with blunted training swords with their brothers. 

There had been another moment, in the past, when a knight talked of promises as he whisked her away. Mayhaps this was the chance, she thought as she danced and her chestnut hair moved when she twirled.

_Mayhaps_ this time, the story would end better. 

"What made you think this lady who wore armor could be my sister?"

"Oh, I guess someone could see a hint of resemblance, even despite how different you look."

_'As different as the sun and the moon.'_

"…but then, of course, you are both tall, even if your hair is dark and hers as blond as the sun, I get the feeling you are the one she seeks."

No, Alayne knew better than anyone that stories of ladies spirited away by knights are far different in reality than they are in songs.

"That's a _fine tale_ you've told me, Ser. I hope this lady knight finds her sister, but _that's not me._ "

And with that, the music ended, and after a curtsy, Alayne turned around and walked towards Ser Harrold Hardyng, who was still waiting for his turn to dance, and her lord father smiled approvingly at the way she had made him wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. I can tell you one thing, I cannot wait to get to the Wall. I'll continue writing, but let me know what resonated with you, as it is always a great push in my writing. 
> 
> Thank you all who continue to read this story, both those who are vocal and the silent readers.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After four days sailing and six riding, Arya finally reaches Castle Black. What they encountered there is not what they imagined, but at least, after long years, both Arya and Gendry arrive at the place they were always meant to reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I was able to manage to get this finished in a week, instead of two. 
> 
> My second surprise is that there is no way I'll finish this in five chapters, so as you may already noticed, the chapter count has increased (and I suspect it will a bit more).
> 
> Also, you'll notice the story has diverted a bit, taken into account the changes I've included before. And so, I want to take the moment to remind everyone that, though this story is book canon, it is also tagged Canon divergent.
> 
> Thank you, all!

[ ](https://imgur.com/VmVxViG)

Arya and Gendry walked towards the gangway that led to the war galley with the confident steps of those who have no doubt their destination is right. Lord Manderly, along with his granddaughters, waited to see them off, and, as they approached, his rotund frame swayed, looking for something behind them.

"Where is the direwolf?" he asked when they were close enough.

"Running north," Arya replied.

Ser Davos and King Stannis were standing next to their host, while Melisandre, Selyse, and Shireen had already boarded their own galley. Gendry noticed on his uncle's forehead the thick blue-green vein wont to throb whenever grinding his teeth wasn't enough.

"What do you mean? You knew full well that it was _the one thing_ that would convince the Northern houses that you are a real Stark!" the king exclaimed.

"I _am_ a real Stark," Arya replied calmly. "Do you want a direwolf on the galley? Tell me, _your grace_ , how many men do you have to spare to feed her?"

the king said nothing. 

"She'll meet us at Castle Black," Arya explained when she noticed Ser Davos throwing her the same pleading look her father used to whenever she managed to make her mother or sister cross with her antics.

"How can you be sure?" Lord Wyman asked. 

Arya exhaled with the dull sorrow of longing, "Because we're going home."

* * *

The cabin on the ship wasn't big, but their bed was slightly larger than the cot they used while campaigning in the Riverlands. Gendry had never been fond of boats, and he had turned green as soon as they set sail. Thankfully, by the time they cleared The Bite and could see Widow's Watch ahead, he seemed to be faring better. 

Arya had been quiet as she looked at the sea. Still, she couldn't stop herself from thinking back to the excitement felt when she had made her way to Braavos, crossing under the Titan. Going back to Westeros had been less enthusiastic, despite the strong pull on her heart. At least now she knew that soon they'd be arriving at Eastwatch and then, they'd make their way to Castle Black, where she hoped she'd find Jon. A voice in her head told her to believe since bad news traveled fast, and there hadn't been any ravens announcing yet another unbearable loss.

Gendry had been pleased to know they would be sailing on a different galley than the king, queen, and the red witch. While he knew that his uncle would be traveling in close quarters with his wife, daughter, and mistress, he didn't want to know any more about his intimacies than what he already knew. Instead, he enjoyed the ship's swaying at night while he lay intertwined with his wife.

His initial discomfort had prompted Arya to lay behind him with legs and arms holding on to him, engulfing as best as she could his massive body, cocooning him. The first night she had distracted him with tales of her Braavosi nights. She spun story after story until he'd fallen asleep, and then, in the morning, he'd wonder how much of what he remembered had indeed been her life and how much it had been his dreams seeping into her tales.

He never asked her, though. He preferred to keep her feats as he remembered them, locked away forever in his mind. Stories she had told him about working for the courtesan Otherys Bellegere, and how he seemed to recall Arya mentioning the bullheaded boy from her past coming to her thoughts in the darkness as her fingers found their way to her smallclothes.

No, he wasn't going to ask her about that, fearful that it had only been his bastard mind tainting her memories with his desires.

One of those nights, when they were halfway between Widow's Watch and the Grey Cliffs, Arya had been restless, her heart beating so fast that Gendry could feel his own catching up the same beat through his back. He had turned around, so he could see her face, with her eyes, scrunched up together, and her hands scratching at the furs. The only thing he could do was snake his arm around her middle and pull her close to him, willing the warmth of his chest to somehow remind her that he was there and that she could come back from wherever far she was running to the shelter of his arms.

The next morning, Arya woke up with her lips against Gendry's chest. She ran her tongue over her dry lips expecting the coppery taste of dried blood, but instead, the only thing she could sense was the spicy saltiness of his sweat. When she looked up to him, she was greeted by the calm blue of his eyes, and she wondered just how long he had been staring.

"Are you finally back to me?"

She could have asked what he meant, or she could have called him stupid and stood up to look for food to break their fast. But his eyes told her that he knew full well where she had gone.

"What do you know of it?" she asked, hoping that he would not be displeased by her answer.

"Not much, just that there are nights that you are restless, and you go far from me, despite me having you in my arms. I also know that it only happens when Nymeria is not with us. At first, I thought they were nightmares, like at the inn, but I've seen it before, at Riverrun, and even earlier. I thought of those nights on the road when we were kids, and you would wake us up to ask us if we heard a wolf howling. Those were never dreams, were they?"

Arya took a deep breath, and she opened her mouth, but she had to swallow before words came out. 

"They're wolf dreams. I'm not sure what they are. I used to think that I only dreamt of Nymeria because I missed her, but later I realized that I walked in her skin. In Braavos, I was blinded for a while, but I could see through the eyes of a cat."

"What is it like?"

"I am her, and she is me. I feel the night calling, and the hunger makes me crave the hunt."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, and instead of the repulsion she had feared, she heard only concern and care, and his fingers brushed the hair off her face.

"No," she replied. "But, I think that it would if it stopped."

Gendry didn't say anything else, and he wrapped his arms around her to lull her back to sleep.

* * *

Arya's heart had broken a little when she saw the galley that carried Ser Davos heading towards Skagos, while the rest continued on the Bay of Seals journeying towards Eastwatch. She said a silent prayer to the old gods and the new for her little brother. There would be time to apologize to him, for not going to get him the moment she knew he lived and for leaving so many years ago before she had the time to really know him. Still, there was a more pressing matter, making sure they could reach Jon before the prophecy of the ghost of High Heart could come to pass. 

After four days at sea, the sight of the Wall had been impressive when they reached Eastwatch. It was hard to believe when you hear about something larger than anything you have ever seen, and you are told that it was built thousands of years before. How can a simple mortal understand that? When only those very lucky lived to see old age. The oldest person Arya had known was Old Nan, and despite no one really knowing exactly how old she was, Arya suspected that she would have been a hundred namedays old at the very least.

For Gendry, it had been even worse.

In Flea Bottom, lucky were the ones that lived to see sixty namedays. Life was hard, and there were too many ways to die. 

Commander Cotter Pyke welcomed them at Eastwatch, and they spent one night there. 

Gendry had been ecstatic to sleep on a bed that didn't sway, and while Arya had been happy for the rest, her skin itched to continue the journey and reach their destination before it was too late. 

It took them six long days to reach Castle Black. It had been anticlimactic, more than anything because, despite its name, it was not a castle, but several towers and keeps made of wood and stone that stood nearby, under the shadow of the Wall. There wasn't even a perimetral wall or gate to separate Castle Black from anything else to the east, south, or west. It was then that Arya truly understood that the only defense the Night's Watch understood was from the wildings beyond the Wall. 

As they approached, they noticed a large number of people around. Still, despite what they had prepared themselves for, in addition to the brothers cloaked in black, there were men and women, wearing heavy furs. Their clothing was far different from the Westerosi style, and it was not hard to recognize who they were. 

"Wildings," Stannis said with disdain. 

"Are we too late?" Gendry asked as they dismounted. "We came to help them keep them on the other side, did we not?"

Arya jumped from her horse, looking around with worry etched on her face. 

She approached a man who wore only black and said, "I'm looking for Jon Snow, he is a brother of the Night's Watch. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Wh… where are you coming from, my... my lady?" The large man stuttered.

Panic started to rise from her stomach.

"White Harbor, I need to find Jon-,"

"This is Stannis Baratheon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms," the red priestess interrupted.

The black brother looked at them with wide eyes, and then he said, "I'll have someone show you to the Lord Commander's solar."

Arya felt the panic slithering from her gut up, as she looked around, trying to spy her brother among the crowd. 

The fat crow signaled to a gaunt-looking brother to show them the way, the paleness of the skin of their new guide contrasted with the ebony of his mop of hair and eyes.

"Please, your grace. You must accompany me to the Lord Commander's Tower."

Arya exhaled and decided there was no point in trying to get the young man to point out where she could find her brother. Arya repeated the litany Syrio had taught her to calm her nerves. She told herself that she'd have better luck speaking with the Lord Commander if she managed to ask about Jon before her good uncle started demanding people to bend the knee. 

As they walked through the training yard, they all noticed the business of the place. Despite what they expected, a scene similar to the one they had encountered at Eastwatch, the black crows only peppered the tableau that consisted of a large crowd of men and women, mostly wearing thick clothing made entirely of dark fur and pelts. All of them eyed them with narrowed eyes, as the king and Melisandre walked in the front, behind the thin brother of the Night's Watch, and the red of Melisandre's velvet gown seemed to part a sea of white and grey. 

Arya shared a look with Gendry. He looked towards the people and asked quietly that only his wife could hear him, "Wildings?"

"Aye. I think so," Arya replied as her eyes seemed fixated on a woman with a long braid falling over the pristine white furs and cloak. And when Arya turned back to look at the dark wooden staircase where they were being led, she could still feel the prickle of the woman's eyes on the back of her head. 

When they reached a wooden door, weathered down by the ice and slate, the young man knocked, and a low voice seemed to instruct him to come in. It took them a moment to adjust their eyes to the low light of the candles inside. 

They entered, following the young crow, and they could see that the furnishings were sparse, and everything showed signs of fire damage. There were no drapes by the windows. Instead, they were boarded, as were large parts of the walls, with mismatched lumber. 

"What is it, Satin?" a voice that Arya had dreamed about for years asked, coming from a bearded man looking up from the parchments that littered his desk.

"Jon?" Arya asked, walking slowly towards the desk, still unable to believe the man sitting at the desk looking exhausted and weary beyond his years was the favorite brother who had left Winterfell when he was barely four and ten. 

The sound of his wooden chair falling back, as he stood up suddenly broke the trance, and walking around the furniture, he said, "Arya? Is it really you?"

It was all that she needed to spring towards him, pushing both the king and his priestess aside as she did. Jon had started walking briskly towards her, and when she was but two steps from him, she jumped in his arms. 

Arya's face buried in the furry collar of his black cloak, and a scent that she had not smelled in years filled her nostrils and sparked her memories. 

"Arya!" Her brother sobbed, squeezing her tight, over her shoulder. "You're here! How are you here?"

Jon pulled away from her to be able to see her. He set her back on the ground, and his hand went to her face, brushing her wet cheek with his thumb, trying to convince himself that she was real and unharmed.

"Did Mance find you? Where is he? I wanted to go myself," he explained rapidly, as he touched her shoulders and the sides of her arms as if looking for wounds.

"Did _he_ hurt you? How are you here so soon? Mance left barely a fortnight ago."

"I am alright, Jon," Arya reassured him, her knuckles going white from grabbing his cloak too tight. For a moment, she wondered who the Mance character was and why he wanted to hurt her.

"Where is Mance?" He said, looking over her shoulder and noticing the three people next to Satin. "Who are they?"

"I don't know who Mance is, Jon. But he did not hurt me. We rode from Eastwatch, where we docked. Our galleys left White Harbor about ten days ago. These are... allies."

"White Harbor? I sent Mance to Winterfell to rescue you."

It all made sense to her then.

"It wasn't _me_ , Jon. I did not marry Ramsey Bolton, that was not me."

Jon embraced her again, and with his eyes closed tightly, he thanked the old gods for their mercy.

"You're not married then," He declared with a relieved smile on his lips as they parted. Arya's eyes went wide, and she swallowed, suddenly unsure of how to explain to her brother what had happened to her in their years apart. She looked back and noticed Gendry with his head slightly bowed down, but observing the scene in front of him. 

"Not to Ramsey Bolton. You see, Jon-"

"I am Stannis Baratheon," her good uncle said after clearing his throat loudly. 

" _King_ Stannis Baratheon," the red priestess added.

Jon nodded towards the man who had claimed to be king. He still remembered Robert Baratheon's visit to Winterfell all those years before. It was hard to forget it when it had been the linchpin that cost him his family. There was no question that the balding man in front of him was indeed the brother of the late king. His eyes then set on the young man who stood slightly behind the king, the same black hair and blue eyes.

"Is this your son?"

"No, my lord," Gendry replied, walking closer. "I'm king's Stannis nephew, my name is Gendry."

The words coming from the tall, broad-shouldered man took him aback.

"I'm no lord," he replied out of instinct. "Just a brother of the Night's Watch."

"You _are_ Lord Commander," his steward was quick to add.

Jon's lips curled into an uncomfortable smile. 

"I am, thank you for reminding me of that, Satin," he said, turning towards his steward, and then turning back towards the newcomers, he added, "You can call me Jon."

"Jon, this is Gendry," Arya said, extending her hand, signaling for him to come closer. "He is my husband."

Jon's eyebrows knitted, and he stared at his sister and then at the large man that she had just introduced as his good brother. Despite his incredulity, he didn't miss how Arya's hand had extended towards the man in question, and he had intertwined their fingers without hesitation. 

"Your husband?" Jon asked, and the uncomfortable smile started turning into a grimace.

"Yes, we married a little under five moonturns ago, in the godswood at Riverrun."

It was as if the mention of the sacred woods was enough proof for Jon of the significance of her words.

"Riverrun? Where have you been if you weren't with the Lannisters or the Boltons?"

"There is a lot to talk about, I'll tell you all, but I must warn you about more important things."

Arya stared at her brother, and she bit her lower lip, suddenly not knowing where to start.

" _Touching_ as this reunion was, Lord Commander," Stannis interrupted the siblings. "There is far more important business to deal with."

Jon looked at his sister again, and for the first time, he observed the woman in front of him, clad in leathers and steel armor. The ghost of the tomboy child she used to be was there, like a see-through veil. He knew it was ridiculous to expect her to be the sister he had missed and mourned for so many years, and yet, despite the joy of being reunited with his favorite sibling, his heart ached for the little girl he'd never see again. For a moment, he wished he could go back to being just Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell and the favorite brother of the young girl that always found the way to stain her face with mud. He wanted to send the king packing and go back to the moment when he had placed Needle in her hands, and she had jumped into his arms. 

If only he could turn back time and be simply the boy whose biggest sorrow was not knowing the name of the woman who had carried him in her womb. 

But as Satin had reminded him, he was not only a brother of the Night's Watch but the newly-named Lord Commander, out of luck and circumstance; and out of Sam's smart campaigning. 

"Of course, your grace." 

"We came all this way because _you_ sent ravens asking for help to keep the wildings on the other side of the Wall, and it seems we are too late."

Jon could see the question on the man's eyes. He was used to the same disapproving look from many of his brothers. 

"We fought the free folk for a long time. There were heavy losses on both sides. All this time we thought the Night's Watch duty was to keep them from coming south, and that they only meant us harm, but now we know they are not the enemy. They only mean to come to this side of the Wall to keep their people safe."

"Safe from what?" the woman in red asked.

"The _others_."

The king laughed as he shook his head.

"You must jape, Lord Commander."

Arya remembered Old Nan's stories and how Bran loved hearing the Long Night's tales, of children who were born, grown, and died all in winter, in a darkness that never stopped. 

"Is there no reason for us to be here, then?" the king asked. 

"No, your grace," Jon replied. "We still need your help. We must talk, but I am sure you'd like to rest from your journey. Let's leave this for later."

The king eyed him carefully for a moment, and then he spoke, "It's true. And the two thousand and a half men who follow me must find a place to settle."

"There is much to discuss. Please, let me show you to rooms where you can rest. I will instruct some of my brothers to show your men where they can set their tents and start fires to keep warm."

"Will you have accommodations worthy for King Stannis?" the red priestess asked. 

"Yes," Jon answered, leading them all our of his quarters. "The King's Tower. It hasn't been used in a long while, but it has everything you may need. Please, come with me. Satin, have the rooms cleaned and made ready for the king."

Satin nodded and left to follow Jon's instructions. 

As they walked outside, Arya pulled at Jon's sleeve.

"Jon?"

"Yes?"

"Can we stay closer to you?"

Jon felt stupid as he realized his sister was not asking just for quarters close to his for herself. He had already learned of her marriage, but somehow he had assumed she'd be staying near him on her own.

Looking over her, towards the large man who was her husband, he said, "Of course, but I must warn you, the quarters in the Lord Commander's Tower are sparse. The only featherbeds at Castle Black are at the King's Tower. I'm afraid the beds in the cells here are too narrow."

His reply had been instinctual, but his sister's husband blush made the fact that Arya was a woman grown more evident. Jon looked back ahead, embarrassed himself at imagining Arya and her husband sleeping close enough to fit on such narrow beds. 

"A straw mattress is just fine with us… Jon," Gendry replied, looking down. 

"Of course," Jon said, looking ahead. "There are black brothers' cells on the floor below. You could stay in the one that used to be mine."

* * *

A black brother showed them to the cell that used to be Jon's. Gendry had been grateful not to be placed next door to Jon, and though it was silly, as Arya was his wife, he still felt as if he was doing something wrong, sharing her bed at her brother's home. The room had been sparse as Jon had said, barely a small table and a narrow straw bed. 

"Your brother wasn't kidding," he said, sitting on the bed. "Do you think we'll manage to fit?"

Arya eyed the bed and commented, "We'll just have to lay very closely," she said, walking between his legs. 

Gendry let his hands move up and down the sides of her strong legs. The leather covering it was cold and slightly damp. Arya straddled his lap and gave him a kiss, her lips chapped and cool, but she still managed to enthrall him as her kisses always did. After a moment, Gendry could feel her smile against his mouth.

"Are you happy?"

"I am. We're here, finally here, after all this long, and Jon is alive and well."

"Weird, isn't it? If I had made it here all those years ago, I'd be a crow, and I would have taken vows."

Arya stared at him, and her thumb brushed the overgrown beard, a result of the time they'd been on the road.

"You _took_ vows," she reminded him.

" _Far better_ vows," he added before capturing her mouth in another kiss. 

They parted, knowing there was still much to do. 

"I need to talk to him," Arya sighed, thinking about all she had learned about her brother, suddenly feeling the weight of the secrets she held. 

"Go to him now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, go. I'll be fine, I must go and help settle our men."

* * *

They went down the rickety wooden staircase that led down the Lord Commanders quarters together. Arya felt the pull before she had a chance to see it. Her heart squeezed suddenly, and she ached to bury her face in Nymeria's fur, but she knew she was far away, mayhaps closer to Winterfell, but certainly far away from Castle Black. 

When she reached the landing, she had a chance to look through the yard, across the sea of people, busy trying to make a life after leaving everything behind. She looked through the crowd, and as the free folk and the black brothers moved, a path parted. All of a sudden, over the dirty snow, and worn cloaks and furs, on the other side of the training yard, finally, the pristine white of her brother's direwolf appeared, sitting on its hind legs and staring with his eyes aflame.

"Arya? Are you alright?" Gendry asked, breaking the trance. 

It was then that he noticed the direwolf on the other side of the yard. 

"It's that a direwolf?"

"No, that's not _just_ a direwolf."

"What is it, then?"

"Ghost."

Arya crossed the sea of bodies, pushing and elbowing her way until she was in front of the beast, slightly shorter than Nymeria, but still massive.

Ghost's red eyes stayed on her for a few moments, and Arya remained unmovable until Ghost's head bowed and looked for her hand. Arya wrapped her arms around the snowlike fur. 

"Who are you?" A gruff woman's voice pulled her off their embrace. Lifting her head, Arya saw the wilding woman from before decked entirely in white fur, with a long honey-blond braid over her left shoulder.

Arya opened her eyes and stared at the woman, still with Ghost's snout against her midsection.

"I'm Arya," she replied. 

"He has never taken to anyone this way," the woman spoke, and Arya knew there was a question in the air.

"That's because we've known each other for a long time."

"Arya?"

Gendry was behind her, watching the white direwolf. He stared mesmerized as it buried its massive head on the side of Arya's torso. He had grown to love Nymeria, but the silent white direwolf, with red eyes, looked foreign and menacing, even if he seemed taken with his wife. 

"This is Ghost," Arya introduced him. "He's my brother's direwolf."

Gendry extended his hand too slowly for his own taste. He had chosen to use his left, just in the chance Jon's direwolf wasn't as happy to meet him.

The wolf stared at him and slowly sniffed at Gendry's hand. After a while, Ghost nuzzled his side.

"I guess at least I am not lunch."

"No," his wife replied. "He knows you're pack."

The wildling woman had stared at the scene silently. And once Ghost had vouched for the couple, she spoke, "You are Jon's sister? I thought your husband had you locked in a tower at Winterfell."

Gendry raised his head at the woman's words. 

"I _am_ her husband."

To be honest, he didn't know for sure if the words coming out of his mouth meant to explain the fake Arya or justify himself, making a distinction about the type of husband he was. 

Or mayhaps, it was his jealousy, trying to make a statement about Arya being his and not Ramsey's. 

"The Arya at Winterfell is not me," Arya explained.

"Mance was sent to rescue you," the blond woman explained. "It would have been helpful to have you arrive a fortnight ago." Arya could hear a bit of a bite in the woman's words, and she wondered what this Mance meant to her, but she chose to ignore it for the moment.

"He seems to like me," Gendry pointed out, as he continued to pet Nymeria's brother.

Arya leaned into him, and with her head falling over his chest, she said, "Ghost can pick up your scent on me and mine on you. He knows you are family."

Arya then turned towards the woman who eyed them both carefully.

"Ghost seems close to you," she said, taking her turn to question her.

"It could be that we have a lot in common."

"Is it my brother?"

The woman smiled crookedly, and then replied, "No, I do not think it's that."

"What is it then?"

"Neither of us belong here."

* * *

Arya went to Jon after Gendry reassured her that he was capable of directing the men and getting all their belongings taken to their quarters. She found Jon nearby, and then, without any more interruptions, they had time to embrace once more, for longer this time. 

When they parted, Jon held on to her long braid, and Arya could see something watery in his eyes. She suspected hers were probably the same, but it didn't stop her from mocking her older brother.

"I thought crows were supposed to be tough."

Jon laughed and shook his head, looking down. 

"I'm not just a crow, I'm still your brother."

"That's right, not just a crow. You are _Lord Commander_. How are you Lord Commander, anyway?" 

Jon looked up and pursed his lips and said, "To be honest, I've no idea. Luck and Sam's doing."

"Who's Sam?"

"My best friend. He's a steward. I'll introduce you later."

"I can't believe I'm actually here, at the Wall," Arya said, looking around.

"Ah, but you are not at the Wall," he said with a teasing smile, "not yet. Want to come up?"

"Are you serious?"

Jon simply nodded and instructed her to follow him. They walked in silence until they reached the cage that was used to reach the top with a system of pulleys. As they ascended, the cold air filled Arya's lungs, and she felt slightly dizzy. She was not sure if it was the height or just how unbelievable it all was. 

When they reached the top, Jon opened the wooden and iron cage and gestured for Arya to go first. She didn't hesitate, and she reached for the edge. In front of her, there was a sight like nothing she had ever seen before, not even at Essos. 

"Nothing beats it, does it?" Her brother asked her.

"No. I thought Braavos had been impressive, but this is something else."

"Braavos?"

Jon's tone sobered her, and she turned to see him, all the questions written on his face. 

"Yes, I lived there for years."

Jon wondered about all those years they were apart. He thought about the moments she needed him, and he wasn't there.

"You were really not married to Ramsey Bolton, were you?"

"I've already told you. I haven't even met him," Arya turned back to see the sight beyond the wall, and after swallowing, she spoke, "I met his father, though."

"Roose?"

"Yes, it was at Harrenhal. We were imprisoned there. I was even his cupbearer."

Every new tidbit that came from his sister's mouth was more terrifying than the last. The word _'we'_ stuck to him for a second, but there were more important things to ask. 

"You were cupbearer to Roose Bolton?"

"Yes."

"And he never knew it was you?"

"No, I don't think he did. He knew for sure I was not who I said I was. He knew I was highborn, but he never knew my real name. I suspect that if he had, I would really be in Winterfell married to his son."

Jon stayed silent for a moment, trying to process what she had said.

"You said _'we were imprisoned,'_ who were you with?"

"Gendry. Well, Hot Pie was there too."

"Hot Pie?" Jon asked with a smile. 

"He is a friend of ours. I traveled with them after I escaped King's Landing when father…"

She didn't need to complete the sentence.

"Yoren found me, he cut my hair and had me joined the group of recruits he was bringing to the Wall. Gendry and Hot Pie were with him."

"Gendry was being brought here? To take the black?"

Arya could see Jon's train of thought and how his jaw was tensing.

"It was not like _that_. He wasn't a murderer or a raper. He was an armorer's apprentice in King's Landing. His master sold him to the Watch, but we suspect it was to keep him from being culled along with all of the other bastards of Robert Baratheon, though he didn't know he was one at the time."

There was something in his sister's eyes when she spoke of the man who had become her husband.

"Is he good to you?"

"He's my friend," she replied, looking away, and Jon suspected the blush on her cheeks and nose was not just because of the frigid air. 

"That's not what I asked."

Arya's shoulders fell, and she answered, "Fine! He is. He is my friend, and he is _so_ very good to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Jon grimaced, and he looked ahead beyond the wall. He felt guilty for his reaction, and despite not being able to see it from where he stood, he wondered about a cave where he had been once happy.

"What I want to hear is how did you end up married. You never wanted to do it," Jon said, instead.

"I was too little to be thinking about marriages last time we were together."

"Still, you cannot tell me this marriage is not political."

Arya exhaled loudly, and she looked at her breath in the cold air.

"No, I cannot."

"The king, Stannis," Jon said, and the words in his mouth tasted foreign, "did he force you to marry his nephew."

"No, I was not forced," Arya replied, and after swallowing, she continued, "but I won't deny that we married to forge an alliance."

"Then?"

"Then I realized that no matter what, I'd end up having to marry for political reasons. Robb promised me to a Frey, did you know this?"

Jon nodded.

"He was to marry a Frey as well. Sansa was to marry Joffrey, and then they married her to the Imp. We were all meant to marry for an alliance."

"Not me."

"Well, not all of us were lucky enough to get to join the Night's Watch."

"It was different, you know it."

She knew it was different. She had always known it. How Jon was made to sit at a separate table and how her mother treated him. Things had always been the way they were, but with age, something that she hadn't considered started to make sense.

"You didn't have to leave us."

"I _had_ to leave you. Despite what you always thought, I was not one of you, I was different. There would have never been a place for me, and I would have always been a threat to Robb."

"It's not what Robb thought."

_'I must tell him,'_ Arya thought. There was so much to tell, but she didn't know where to start. 

"I know, but it was easier this way."

"I went to Essos when there was nothing else for me. I got to the Twins, you know? I got there late. I saw them parade Robb's body with Grey Wind's head attached to his neck," she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek, turning to ice before it reached her chin. "I left after that. I thought there was nothing else for me."

"There was me," Jon said, his hand on her chin, making her turn towards him.

"I tried. At Maidenpool, I tried to get passage to Eastwatch, to come to you, but no ships were going north, only to Braavos."

"Why Braavos?"

"I'll tell you one day, I promise, but there are so many more things I must tell you before."

"Like why you chose to marry?"

Her brother distracted her from her anxious thoughts.

"I knew that after coming back, even if all these bloody wars were over, one day or another, I'd have to do my duty and marry for Winterfell. I decided that if I needed to marry for political reasons, I would broker my own marriage."

"But you knew him before."

"I did. Gendry was my friend. I lost him once, but when I came back, he was there."

"And you just proposed marriage?" Jon asked with a smirk, which prompted Arya to swat at his arm.

"No! He lived and worked at the inn at the Crossroads. I was there when Stannis came looking for both of us."

"Why was he looking for both of you? How did he even know you'd be there."

"His witch."

Jon thought for a moment, and then he spoke, "That woman in red?"

"She's a priestess of R'hllor, and she claimed to see in her fires that a wolf and stag were to marry. Stannis has no male heirs, and she convinced him to legitimize Gendry."

"Why _did_ _you_ marry him?"

"Because I set my conditions. Riverrun was taken from the Freys and given back to uncle Edmure. I got his promise that the North will remain independent of we back his claim and agree to take the Iron Throne from the Lannisters. And because he'd come here to help you, and I'd finally find you again."

Jon took Arya into his arms once more, and they stayed like that for long, until Arya spoke again, her face on his chest.

"He is a good man, Jon. For some reason, all the best men I've ever known happen to be bastards."

Jon grinned. His heart softened at realizing he was still her favorite brother. Still, something stabbed the warm feeling at the same time, a sliver of jealousy realizing that another bastard boy had been with his beloved sister, all along, when she had needed him. It was silly, he knew, but it bothered him nonetheless.

Meanwhile, as Arya was shielded from the wall's sharp winds in her brother's arms, she chose to keep her secrets for one more day. She convinced herself that her news could wait, that they both could just be brother and sister for a few more hours.

* * *

Jon approached the armory with steady steps. It had been some time since he had step foot there before Donal Noye passed. When he asked his sister where he could find her husband, she had replied, "Is there a smithy in this place? Because that is where you will find him."

Jon had been skeptical at first, but still, after parting ways at the bottom of the Wall, he had walked towards the place. As he got closer, it was just as it was back when Donal would be busy mending the swords of the brothers of the Night Watch. It wasn't until he was closer that he realized the noises coming from the place had a reassuring familiarity, the iron tools' clangs, and the hissing of the quenching swords. When he managed to get inside, he realized he was tentative in his movements, as if _he_ was the one trespassing, and not the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Jon had to admit that the moment he had learned the man had married his little sister, and he saw how Gendry touched her with ease had made him dislike his new good brother. However, when he found him there, in the place where he had always seen Donal Noye, he questioned his initial appreciation. Instead of his fancy leathers and armor, Gendry had stripped down to his leather breeches and had forgone his shirt entirely. Instead, he wore the leather apron that had been left hanging from a hook, and he seemed to be covered in a sheen of sweat as he worked the bellows to keep the fires going.

"I have to say," Jon spoke, making Gendry turn towards him, "that when my sister suggested I try to find you at our forge, I thought the idea ridiculous. Now, I can see that Arya does know you indeed."

Gendry smiled, looking down, stopping his movement, but keeping his hands wrapped around the bellow's handle. 

"She does, better than anyone else. Better than me, that's for sure."

His words let a sliver of ice dig in Jon's chest. 

"I have to admit, I cannot understand why the heir to the King of the Seven Kingdoms would look for the forge at Castle Black and start working the minute he arrived."

"That's because no matter the fancy name the king bestowed on me, I'm just a smith underneath it all. And I am not to take the throne from him. His true heir is his daughter, Shireen."

"But you're more than that. Someone far more important."

Gendry stared at Arya's brother, trying to understand the meaning of his words.

"Am I? What else could I possibly be?"

"You're the husband of _my little sister_. The one person that I love above everything else."

"And here I thought the only thing we had in common was that we were both born bastards."

Jon stared at the man for a few moments, and then he let a big belly laugh out.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ghost arriving and standing next to Jon and then slowly making his way to the newcomer. 

"This is-"

"Ghost," Gendry interrupted him, and the great beast went towards him, letting him run his sooty hand over the white fur. 

"I must say, I am surprised you are acquainted with my direwolf."

"Arya introduced us earlier. I never thought I'd live to meet a direwolf. I always thought they were mythical creatures, like dragons and grumpkins. And yet, I've lived long enough to meet two."

"Two?"

"Nymeria."

"You've met my sister's direwolf?"

"Aye. In the Riverlands. She has traveled with us, but when we sailed from White Harbor, Arya set her to run free north. Arya is convinced she will meet us here."

"Wolves are pack animals. If you are in their pack, you will be protected, but if you're not, the gods have mercy."

"I've had a chance to understand that."

"What do you feel for my sister?"

"She's the only family I've ever had. I will never do anything to hurt her. Not anymore. I hurt her once."

"How?"

"In the Riverlands. She wanted us to go to your brother. Arya said I could smith for him. I knew neither her brother nor her lady mother would ever allow a poor bastard like me to be friends with a princess. I told her no that I would stay with the Brotherhood without Banners. I betrayed her like that, and she escaped that very same night. The Hound kidnapped her, they traveled together for a while, until she left him half-dead. After that, she went to Essos."

"She told me little of that."

Gendry huffed with laughter. 

"Better get used to that. Arya tells me a little bit each night, but there is so much I still do not know."

Jon flinched involuntarily at Gendry's words, and without wanting to, he imagined his sister in that man's arms at night, telling him of her adventures. 

"She tells me you were an armorer's apprentice," he said, trying to change the topic.

"I was. Before I got sold to the Night's Watch."

"She mentioned that. To think that if Yoren had been successful, today you'd be my brother through the Night's Watch and not my brother through my little sister."

"What I wonder is if you'd give me a chance to be your friend," Gendry ventured, and he could see Jon taking a moment to consider the offer. 

"I must apologize. I just came here and started working without asking for your permission. I was told you recently lost your smith. There are many things I'm not good at, but this is something I know, and with all the people you have here, I am sure you'd be needing a smith. Let me prove myself this way."

"The forge is yours if you want it."

Gendry nodded and stared at him for a moment.

"What is it?"

"I envied you when we were children."

Jon had never heard anyone say they felt envy of him, and his eyes narrowed at the man.

"How could you envy me without us having met?"

"Oh, I never knew you, that's right. But Arya talked about you all the time, _'my brother Jon, this, my brother Jon, that'_ one could have thought you hung the moon."

"I was born a bastard, nothing to envy."

"Aye. I did as well, but I imagined what it would have been like to grow up with brothers and sisters and a father who cared."

Jon looked down. Despite it all, he knew he had been luckier than many.

He looked up and changed the subject, "I did not hang the moon."

"Well, you gave her Needle, that's about the same thing for her."

Jon smiled, remembering the moment he had placed the little sword in his sister's hands.

"I wonder what happened to it."

"It's in our trunks."

"She kept it?"

"She lost it for a while, but she managed to get it back and kill the man who took it away."

Jon felt panic envelop his heart.

"Killed?"

Gendry shook his head.

"I've said too much already. There are things she needs to tell you herself. But don't feel bad. She survived because you placed that sword on her hand."

"I noticed she wears a different sword now, and armor. Yours?"

"Aye. I'm not a fancy man, and I don't have nice words or jewels to woo your sister with. Steel, that's all I can give her."

"I suspect that's better than anything else for Arya."

"She's all I have."

Gendry stared at the man for a while, and then he said, "My sister decided you were part of her pack, which means you are now part of mine."

And with that, he extended his hand, which Gendry took with a smile.

* * *

Gendry woke up disoriented, and it took him a few moments to find his bearings in the small cell. Arya's whimpers and her nails digging in his flesh let him know precisely what had woken him. 

He kissed her sweaty temple and whispered sweet-nothings against her skin until she slowly emerged from the dream. 

"Where were you?" He asked once her eyes focused on him, and he was able to see recognition in them. 

Arya scrunched up her eyes, and then, opening them again, she held on tight to her husband, and with her lips just above the place where his heart was beating, she said, "Home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, the coming chapter should be ones of a lot more intrigue, shared secrets and action.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support of this story, it means the world to me.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Arya wakes from her latest warging dream many secrets are revealed. Melisandre stands out at the Wall and she is delighted to learn at least a couple of things that reinforce her faith in R'hllor and resurrect her confidence in her divination powers. And to top it all, we finally have eyes in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would take me a whole more week to get this one out, and while I know I'm a bit late, I am extremely pleased I was able to get it out now.
> 
> Also, I'm adding a warning. There is a reference here to the torture/rape of Jeyne Poole by Ramsey Bolton, from book canon. There is no description/depiction of it, but it is referenced. I have tagged accordingly, but I wanted to make sure no one is affected by that.

[ ](https://imgur.com/j14u11E)

Arya had wondered when would she be pulled into her wolf skin next after docking at Eastwatch. It hadn't happened since the night on the ship when Gendry figured out about her skin-changing.

She could start feeling the pull as the cold air of the Wall filled her lungs, and she didn't need a dream to know that Nymeria was getting closer to Winterfell. 

It finally happened during their first night at Castle Black. Instead of waking to her wolf eyes mid hunt, as she was wont to do, she was moving her massive paws slowly, and the only noise they made was the dullness of snow compacting under her weight.

She had wished for her wolf skin for days, imagining the towers of her home leading the way. In the end, it was not the sight of the towers but the scent of the weirwood and the ice forming over the godswood pools. It was the same scents of her childhood but with the added stench of wet ash.

She stalked around the tall flanks of the castle, hidden in the dark. Something pulled her to the back of the godswood, and there, she found it. The moss-covered stone left there broken and fallen for years. She ambled around it, testing it with her paws, and she could not believe it had not been discovered yet. Nymeria jumped over it with grace, and moved about Winterfell unnoticed, past the broken tower, the first keep and the lichyard. The smell of blood had stuck to everything, far more rooted in the grain of the wood and the heart of stone, too far to be erased no matter how harsh the scrub. 

It only helped make her mouth water.

Oh, but it was not her natural hunger, not the scent of prey in the air, but a stab in the gut that demanded payment. An old debt that had to be wiped in blood.

Arya felt the sway to find the Bolton men asleep in their stolen beds, and flay them with her fangs until they looked exactly like the pink man of their sigil.

* * *

As Arya slowly emerged from her dream wrapped in Gendry's arms, she noticed the care and concern in his eyes.

"Where were you?" 

"Home," she replied, holding on tight to her husband, and her lips tasting his skin.

"Winterfell?"

Arya remained silent, but Gendry knew the answer already.

"Is Nymeria safe?" he asked instead.

"She is. And she is coming to me."

Gendry was patient, letting Arya take her time to share what kept her still in gooseflesh. 

"It was hard to leave," she sighed. "Even harder, not going to find them asleep on our beds and tear them to pieces slowly."

Gendry wondered if it could have been as easy as that, but experience told him it couldn't. It took him a while to gather the courage to ask the question in his mind, "What happens if Nymeria dies while you are stuck inside her?"

Against his chest, he could have sworn he felt the vibration of a quiet wolf wail.

"I don't know."

"I'm glad you didn't try then."

They stayed like that a bit longer, and Gendry's calloused fingerpads half-caressed half-scratched her naked back, slowly calming her down.

"I saw what they did to my home, the way they burned and desecrated it."

"We'll make it there, and take it back," he promised her, combing her loose hair with his fingers. "And we'll make them pay. We'll take our time."

Arya thought that it ought to be wrong how his words of revenge made her smile against his chest, as a maiden swooning at a bard's song.

"And after all of that, I will help you rebuild it. You will be glad they made you marry a smith," Gendry continued, pushing her chin gently with his fingers, to make her look up. "I'll make you nails and hinges. And I am good with my hands and strong."

Arya's thighs squirmed a little at the mention of just how good he was with his hands. She was aware that was not what he meant, but her wolf dreams always left her skin tingling and craving him. If Gendry noticed her movement, or the wetness on her thighs, he said nothing.

"I will work with your carpenters and your masons. And even if it takes me years, I will build your home back, stone by stone."

After his pledge, he lowered his head to kiss her slowly on the lips.

His voice had finally calmed her, and in her mind's eye, she saw him, doing each of the things he promised. Arya climbed up until her face was high enough to line up with his, and Gendry could feel her breasts pressed on his chest, and her crossed arms set on his clavicle. 

"Will you do all of that for me?"

"Aye."

She leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips, and pulling back, Gendry saw something else in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"I found something else."

"What was it?"

"A wall, at the back of the godswood. It is down, and no one knows. We went in that way, Nymeria and I, and we wandered inside in the dark."

"When it's time, we'll go in that way," he proposed.

"When it's time," she agreed, and in her eyes, Gendry saw something he knew well.

"But you didn't hunt last night."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I see the hunger still in your eyes," was all he got to say before she captured his mouth.

* * *

Melisandre had to lift her velvet skirts a bit to avoid the slush of mud and sleet ruining the hems. It didn't matter, really, but she didn't like how the added weight halted her steps. She had felt that recently, with the swamp waters of the Neck against her ruined crimson silk gown. Still, she knew the Lord of Light did not care of the finery of the clothing, just that his priests and priestesses wore red. She had seen women and men of R'hllor, wearing tattered red garments. Even Thoros, with his cloak, so old and worn that it was almost pink. No, that was not the part that scared her, not ruined fine silks. It was that she couldn't stop feeling that what slowed her down wasn't the resistance of the elements against her ample skirts, but thousands of shadow hands holding her down, trying to pull her underground. 

When they made it to Eastwatch, she changed her silks for the velvet gowns Selyse had made for her in the Riverlands. It wasn't as she needed to switch the fabric because of the cold. Years and lifetimes of nightfires had the flames ingrained into her flesh enough to last her through the coming winter. It just felt more appropriate for the North. 

It was then that she saw him, in the training yard, yelling at the crowd and trying to break petty squabbles between the crows and the wildlings. The moment they had been introduced to him, Melisandre had not been able to stop a smile spreading on her face. She could not deny that the one true God had a sense of humor. For long nights she had seen only snow on the fires, and then the man who sat at the desk of the Lord Commander was Jon _Snow_. Whatever doubt she had started to feel melted away. 

The man was done barking his commands and started going back towards the Lord Commander's Tower. Melisandre stayed there, letting him come to her. She had placed herself at the first wooden step, and she made the velvet hems fall down, spilling all over. 

Jon stopped when he reached the stairs, unable to go by with the woman with the wide dress blocking his way. She stood out at Castle Black like a large stain of blood on the snow. 

"Pardon me, my lady. I need to reach my quarters."

"Jon _Snow_ ," she said, over-enunciating his bastard last name, as she moved to the side, enough that the step was clear for Jon to place his boot, but not enough that he wouldn't be able to go on without having to brush against her. 

Jon pursed his lips, and he looked around, noticing a few faces trained on him. He shifted sideways and made his way past the woman and up the steps until he reached the top floor where his solar was located. As he entered the room and was about to close the door, a dainty woman's hand stopped the motion, and he realized the priestess had followed him

"If you could grant me a few moments, Lord Commander."

Jon attempted a diplomatic smile that ended up being more of a grimace as he nodded, showing the woman in. He made sure to leave the door open, knowing that as it was, many of his brothers were displeased with the decisions he had made since being elected Lord Commander, and he didn't want to add any more wood to the fire. 

The woman stared at him as she touched everything on her path.

"You seem unfamiliar with us servants of the red god," Melisandre explained as Jon walked towards his desk, and he signaled for the woman to sit. 

Instead, she walked around, observing the meek belongings in the sparse room, and she spoke again, "Most people look at me and see nothing but a red witch."

As she rounded the desk, to walk behind Jon's chair, the raven on its perch broke the silence.

_'Witch, witch!'_

Jon swallowed loudly, but the woman did not seem fazed by the animal Jon had inherited from Jeor Mormont and gods-only-know how many more lord commanders before him. 

"There are animals trained to parrot words that they do not understand," the priestess declared as if apologizing for the bird when it should have been Jon to say that. 

"It has been here longer than anyone else, probably even longer than Maester Aemon," Jon replied nervously.

"Aemon?" the woman said, suddenly uninterested in anything else in the room. "That is a Targaryen name, is it not?"

Jon scrunched up his eyes and worried that he had disclosed more information than he should have."

"Aye. I believe, many years ago, but as you know, we men of the Night's Watch give up our family loyalties. Maester Aemon twice over, once when he went to the Citadel, and then once more when he became a brother."

"Are you saying there isn't a dragon hidden here at the Wall, Jon Snow?"

"If there were, it would have turned into snow long ago."

The witch smiled to herself. 

"Is there something I can help you with, my lady?"

"What do you know of the Lord of Light, Lord Commander?" Melisandre finally asked, coming to sit on the chair across from Jon. She leaned back with ease over the back and arms of the simple chair, and she crossed her legs, one over the other, the gesture making the fabric slide, and baring her skin a bit higher than her knee. 

Jon noticed it, and he knew full well, it had not been an accident. He smiled tightly, and he responded, "Only that it is an Essosi god and that its followers worship fire."

"It's not _an_ Essosi god."

"Is it not? Have I been mistaken all this time?" Jon asked, taking his turn to lean back on his own chair.

"R'hllor is _the_ only god, to the east, the south, the west, _and_ the north."

"I sincerely doubt there is anyone this far north who has even heard about him."

"That is why _I_ am here."

"To convert us _crows_ and _wildings_?" Jon asked, using her own words on purpose.

"No," she replied with an enigmatic grin, "to do the bidding of the one true God."

"And what is it?"

"To reveal Azor Ahai, the one that shall defeat the darkness with its sword afire."

"Is that Stannis Baratheon?"

"Do you doubt he is the true king?"

"The Night's Watch follows no king."

"Not even the King in the North? Or the King-Beyond-the-Wall?"

Jon responded without blinking, "No."

"And yet, you opened your gates and let the wildlings pass."

"That had nothing to do with bending the knee to any king."

Melisandre stood up and walked towards the hearth. She stared into the flame while Jon waited awkwardly. He tried taking one of the parchments on his desk, thinking that once the woman noticed he had much work to do, she would get the hint and leave, but she did not. After a while, Jon gave up as the written pages did not make any sense.

"The fires tell me something different," she finally spoke, without turning to look at him.

"I never knew fires to speak."

She turned around then with a crooked smile on her face.

"Flames speak only to those favored by the Lord of Light."

"What do they tell you?"

"They tell me you have a far more important role in this war than staying out of politics, perched like your bird all the way up here, repeating words that are not yours but belong to men long ago dead."

"What does your god think I should be doing then?" He asked, but before Melisandre could answer, Arya came into the room, her riding boots making loud purposeful noises as she walked.

"Lady Melisandre, what a surprise finding you _here_ with _my_ brother."

"I was just sharing with the Lord Commander what the fires tell about him."

"Funny how the fires always have something to say about my loved ones," Arya responded, sitting on the chair Melisandre had vacated, and setting her boots on top of her brother's desk.

"R'hllor has something to say about _everyone_ , my lady."

"Well, _I_ have something to tell my brother if you do not mind."

"Of course," the woman acquiesced, and after curtsying, with her red eyes on Jon, she turned around to leave. 

* * *

When the priestess left the room, Arya walked to the door and closed it, staying by it for a few moments, making sure to hear the dragging of her skirts down the stairs. 

"Are you going to stay by the door, or do you truly have something to tell me?"

"I'm just making sure no one listens to us," she replied, turning around.

Jon had his fair share of eavesdroppers, but he could tell those where not the ones his sister distrusted.

" _You_ are the one who called them _allies_. Worse even, they're _your_ family now."

"They're _not_ my family! You are my family," she explained, stomping her way back to the wooden chair. "Gendry is _our_ family! And maybe Shireen."

"Shireen?"

"Stannis' daughter, you'll like her."

"What is it that you need to tell me?"

Arya suddenly lost a bit of courage, but she couldn't keep what she knew to herself one more day. 

Where could one even start explaining all the secrets she held?

"We're not the only Starks left," she finally said, holding on to the chair's back. 

"Sansa?" Jon asked.

"Well, yes. I don't know where Sansa is exactly, but she's alive."

"Good," Jon replied.

"But it is not her I wanted to tell you about."

"Who then?"

Arya let her head fall forward, worrying Jon, but then she lifted it again and said, "Bran and Rickon."

Jon's jaw went rigid, and he looked down at his desk.

"They're dead. Theon killed them."

"No. He did not."

Jon's head shot up, and he leaned in, his hands on the desk, messing up the documents on it.

"How can you be that sure? You weren't even in Westeros."

"Lord Manderly."

"How could he know?"

"There was a survivor of the sacking. A young mute squire."

"A _mute_ squire? And what? He mimed to Lord Manderly that the children's bodies Theon killed and hung for everyone to see were not our brothers?" Jon asked with sarcasm.

Arya just rolled her eyes.

"We get enough news up here," Jon added dryly. 

"He killed two boys, I know that. But those boys were not Bran and Rickon."

"Where are they then?"

"Skagos. At least, Rickon is. Stannis's hand, Ser Davos Seaworth, went to get him. I have hope he'll bring him here, to us."

Jon looked down, and he felt tears prickling at his eyes.

"He was just a babe when I left. A babe brought up in _Skagos, of all places_."

"He won't know us," Arya added, voicing the same fears Jon felt, "but he's still part of our pack."

"And what of Bran?"

Arya shook her head and added, "I only know he went north, but I don't know where. We need to find them all, Jon."

"Is this what you were so worried about telling me?"

Jon had always known her the best, and still, he had picked up the fear behind her bravado.

"No, there's more," she said walking towards the fire.

"Unless you tell me Robb's not dead, I don't know what could have you this wound up."

"It's not that, I'm afraid. I _saw_ Robb."

Jon kicked himself internally, having heard already what his sister had to witness.

"And my mother and father."

"I am sorry I said that," Jon apologized, standing up and coming to meet her by the fire.

"When I came back to Westeros-"

"From Braavos?"

"Yes, from Braavos. I meant to come north first, here, to look for you."

"What happened?"

"I docked at White Harbor, and I heard many things, how Walder Frey was responsible for mother and Robb. I made a stop there."

"I heard old Walder was poisoned. Was it you? And his sons?"

"I only dealt with Walder. The rest was his own doing. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to tell you, I went south, to deal with Walder Frey… and _something_ else…"

Arya felt herself rambling.

"I've already told you about meeting Gendry and Stannis and getting Riverrun back. We decided to journey north, through the Neck. There, I met Howland Reed."

"Father's friend?"

"Yes."

"He used to talk about him, how he owed him his life during Robert's Rebellion, and what came after. Funny how we never met him."

"Well, I did. Howland told me about going south with father, looking for Aunt Lyanna, what they had to do to survive".

Jon didn't miss how Arya stared at the fire in the hearth, and in profile, he was able to see her swallowing hard.

"He told me about going to Starfall, before going home, with father and…and… _you_."

When the last word finally bloomed out of her lips, she dared look towards her brother, who just stood there staring back, trying to figure out what she was trying to say.

"My _mother_. He told you who my mother is."

Arya looked down and nodded.

"Please, don't make me wait anymore."

"Aunt Lyanna," Arya spoke to the fire. "Father went to get her at the Tower of Joy. When he reached her, there was very little to do but hold her hand as she died... On her birthing bed."

Jon knew the tragic story of Lyanna Stark, taken away by the married Targaryen prince. Her kidnapping unleashed a series of events that ended up with Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne, three Starks dead, and Benjen joining the Night's Watch, while his father, Ned, kept his secrets to the grave. The part he had never heard before was the one about Lyanna having died on her birthing bed. Such death could only mean she had been pregnant and died after giving birth to a babe.

A babe.

"No."

Jon turned back, shaking his head.

"Jon, please."

"No!" He yelled louder this time as he paced around the room, coming to a barricaded window. His hand touched the different colored lumber, feeling the unfinished surface, splinters embedded into his skin, and he welcomed the sting.

"Jon, look at me," Arya pleaded, and he could hear the unshed tears in her voice behind him. "You _are_ my brother."

"Not according to what you are trying to tell me," he replied, shaking his head, still looking away from her. 

He heard her approaching soft steps until her hand was set on his back.

"Father made a promise to Lyanna. To keep you safe and raise you as his own."

Jon turned abruptly then.

"Ned Stark was honorable. Everyone said so, almost perfect if it weren't for the bastard he sired. I was always the disgusting stain that shamed him."

"He was never ashamed of you."

Jon did not pay attention to her words.

"He loved your mother, but all their lives, I was the shameful proof of his betrayal. Lady Catelyn never let me forget that."

Arya felt the pain, and for all she had loved her mother, she had to admit the biggest of her flaws, "She did not."

"And it was all a lie?! All my life, I wanted to know who my mother was. To know why she didn't want me, wonder if she ever thought of me," a pitiful laugh came out of his lips. 

"And al the while she was dead and buried under the same castle where we grew up."

It was then that he had to support himself with his palm on his desk.

"How many times did I walk by her statue, Arya? Robb and I used to go there, to look at the statues, and try to take the swords. I always thought she looked sad, and I wondered why..."

"She loved you. She wanted you safe from Robert," she reminded him, embracing him from behind.

"All my life, I didn't mind being a Snow. No, that's a lie," he contradicted himself, untangling and moving away from her. "I wanted to be a Stark like you, like Robb. But it didn't matter that I didn't wear the name because I was still a wolf. I always thought of myself as a wolf."

"You are."

"No. I am not. I'm a _dragon_."

Jon said the words aloud to see if they made him feel anything. They tasted hot, like dragon's breath, but foreign.

"You will _always_ be a _wolf_. They don't get to claim you as theirs. And it doesn't matter, they're all dead. You are still a Stark."

"' _A dragon hidden here at the Wall,'_ she said," Jon remembered aloud.

"Who said that?"

"The red woman. Before you arrived."

"She can't know! I made sure no one else knew, not the king, not his witch. Only Gendry and I heard if from Howland and his wife."

Jon turned back to stare at his sister, and then he asked the question, knowing it would sting, "Could _your husband_ have told his uncle?"

"No! He would never betray me. He's not a stag, he's a _wolf_ just like us."

"I thought she meant Maester Aemon."

"Maester Aemon?"

"Aye, he's our old maester. He was Aemon Targaryen. All this time, he's been here, thinking he was the last one, and here I was, feeling the same."

"There is another one, in Essos. I've heard the stories. A Targaryen girl who hatched three dragon eggs," Arya offered.

"Who is _she_ to _me_? My sister? My cousin?"

"I believe she was a sister to Rhaegar, so, your aunt? But what does it matter? They are not your family. _We_ are. _I_ am."

"You're my _cousin_."

Again, the word felt empty on his lips.

"I can't think of you as my _cousin_ , you'll always be my brother."

"You don't mind there is dragon in me?"

"No, because all the good parts of you are pure wolf."

Jon embraced her tightly, his mind took a moment to imagine himself a dragon, to try to see if there was some corner of his mind that identified with that recently discovered part of him. What were the words of House Targaryen? He tried to remember Maester Luwin, teaching him and Robb, and then Theon, all those years before. ' _Fire and blood'?_ He couldn't find anything. His mind and his body were pure snow.

He pulled apart from Arya, and the only thing he could see in her was his sister. They both had red and wet eyes, but they grinned with twin smiles. 

Arya looked away, and her smile wilted. 

"There is more."

"More?" Jon laughed. "What else could possibly be still to tell?"

"Robb's will. Before he went to the Twins, he had a will drawn, signed, and sealed, with several of his lords witnessing it. He worried about what would happen to the North if he died without issue."

"As he did."

"Aye, as he did, but he wrote the will, naming who was to be King in the North."

"Bran, of course," Jon replied. "He was his heir."

"But Bran and Rickon were supposed to be dead already by then."

"But, they were not."

"Robb didn't know that."

"Sansa? You?" Jon guessed.

"Sansa was married to the Imp. He had to disinherit her."

Jon could not believe it, and yet, he could only imagine the choices Robb had to make.

"His own sister? Why?"

"Because then the Lannisters would take Winterfell."

"Did she know? She would have felt abandoned, punished."

Arya thought back to her father's execution. The sight of her sister crying, trying to get herself free from her restrainers. She wanted to hate her, for staying behind, for not finding the way to escape the Lannisters, for having loved them before they betrayed them, for Mycah, for Lady, for Nymeria. She had fainted when Ice fell down. She wasn't happy with her sister, but she couldn't hate her. Not then, not now."

"I don't know, but she was written out of the will."

"You?" Jon asked then.

Arya shook her head. As far as she knew, Robb had not written anything about her. Evidently, he thought her long dead. 

"No, I don't know if he ever thought of me, but I suspect he thought I was as dead as Bran and Rickon."

"Who would he have named his heir?" Jon asked, wondering about distant Stark relatives.

" _You_."

Arya's words distracted him from his thoughts and made him shake his head.

"No, it couldn't have been me. I am not a Stark. I'm a bastard."

"And bastards can be made legitimate."

"Only by kings."

"And Robb was one," Arya replied with a faint smile.

Jon felt his knees falter once more, and he had to support himself on his desk, with two hands this time.

"All these years, you've been Jon Stark, you just didn't know it."

"No."

"It was legal. It happened. There is a will that proves it."

"Where?" he asked, looking up.

It was Arya's turn to shake her head.

"It can't be real without proof."

"It exists, I just don't know where it is. Robb asked both Galbart Glover and Maege Mormont to sail north through the Neck to find Howland Reed. One of them had the will, but Howland did not show himself to either one."

"So, they could be dead for all we know."

"They crossed the Neck safely. They have to be somewhere. At least one of them must live and hold the will that names you King in the North."

"It matters not," Jon said, letting himself fall on his chair.

"Why not?"

Jon looked up at his sister, walking close to him, and he leaned back on his chair. 

"You came here with the man who claims to be the King to the Seven Kingdoms, for starters. I'm sure your _good uncle_ wouldn't be pleased to learn the North would not be part of his kingdom."

"I set my terms, before joining him, before accepting to wed Gendry. The North will remain free, and when we get it back, you'll be its king."

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, kneeling by the side of his chair.

"You can't seriously be asking me why not," her brother said, looking at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You _know_ why not."

"I don't, I truly don't."

"How about because I'm not a _real_ Stark."

"You are, you are more Stark than Targaryen. Who cares if you are not the son of Ned Stark and some unnamed woman? You are the son of a Stark, one that father always said was more wolf than any of them. What has changed? Before you were half Stark and half something else. What if that other unknown part is Targaryen?"

"Targaryen, Stark," he repeated, shaking his head. "I am neither. I took vows, I'll take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children."

"A king can annul those vows, and I happen to know a king."

"A king cannot undo those vows, Arya."

"Who says a king can't?"

"I do," he said, his dark eyes burning through her.

"Then, who can? There has to be someone to free you."

"Only death."

Arya stood up and took two steps behind abruptly, feeling the burn of his words. 

"So it's true. You heard what they did to your family, to father, to Sansa… to me. You heard about Bran and Rickon… and Robb, and you did nothing because you are no longer a Stark or a wolf. Just a bloody crow!"

"You think I didn't want to ride south?!" He said, standing up and pushing the chair behind. "I almost did!"

"And yet you didn't. I needed you, and you were not there."

Jon turned away.

"I know."

"But you can do something now, you can help me take Winterfell back. Do something this time."

"I did it, despite what my brothers thought on the matter. I sent Mance and six spearwives to rescue you from the Boltons. Believe me, it earned me no friends."

"Do it again then. Help me get our home back, be King in the North as Robb wanted."

"Arya! I can'-"

"Lord Commander?" The voice of the young black brother on the other side of the door interrupted them.

"Come in," Jon instructed him.

The man opened the door slowly, and he peeked inside.

"What is it, Satin?"

"The king asks for your presence at the King's Tower."

"I'm on my way," Jon replied, throwing a look to his sister that let her know it was not the last they talked on the matter.

"He summons his good niece as well."

"We're on our way," Jon replied, as the young man bowed before leaving.

"This is not the last we talk about this, Jon," Arya warned her brother.

"No, I know it is not."

* * *

Brother and sister arrived together at the king's solar, and Jon was surprised to see how much had been accomplished in barely a day. Clearly, Satin had instructed some of the younger recruits to help clean it up, but the place was unrecognizable to the young Lord Commander, evidently due to Stannis' men. The solar had been cleaned and dusted, but new rugs and furniture had been brought in, along with the king's possessions. The large table and wooden chairs in the middle of it were seemingly the only furniture that had remained from the tower itself. 

There, already seated around, Jon could see his new good brother, along with the king, a woman he had not met yet, but who he suspected was the queen, the red priestess, and more of the king's advisors. 

"Please sit, Lord Commander," the king instructed. "Arya, _dearest_ , you as well."

Jon noticed the flinch in his sister's face at the term of endearment, but he saw her take her place by her husband, who was quick to cover her hand with his.

Jon sat down and stared at the self-proclaimed king, purposefully waiting for him to speak first. 

"I have had a chance to speak with some of your black brothers," the king spoke, and Jon didn't have to wonder to know precisely who Stannis must have spoken to before the king had even spoken the names. "Bowen Marsh and Janos Slynt."

Arya's hand turned into a fist still in Gendry's, recognizing the name of the previous commander of the City Guard of King's Landing, another man responsible for the fall of their family. Her eyes searched for her bother's.

"Janos Slynt? He's here?" she asked.

Jon nodded.

"How could he be here, Jon? How can you call him _your brother_?"

Jon looked down for a moment, and lifting his eyes again at his sister, he spoke, "When a man takes the black, he sheds everything of his previous life. Look around, the men of the Night's Watch are murders, rapers,-"

" _Bastards_ ," the king added.

"Aye. Bastards, and men their own families wanted out of the way. But I guess this is not the reason why your grace wanted to talk to me."

"Your black brothers told me about the deal you brokered with the wildlings. They said you let them pass through the Wall in exchange for a promise their King-Beyond-the-Wall made you: to rescue your sister from Winterfell."

Arya turned towards Jon.

"I made a deal with Mance, yes. But it was not in exchange to rescue the Arya I thought was held prisoner. I told you before, there is something far worse on the other side of the wall."

"They told me this Mance Rayder is a deserter from the Night's Watch, and instead of executing him for his desertion, as you should have, you allowed him to live."

"The situation is far more complicated than what they told you."

"They said he blackmailed you with some story of a horn that if blown it would make the Wall fall. They said you traded with him, and you were duped."

_'The Horn of Winter,'_ Jon corrected the king in his mind. He was not duped. He knew all along it was a fake, but what he was able to see was Mance's last-ditch attempt to buy his people's safety.

"Did this Mance go to Winterfell to rescue your supposed imprisoned sister?" the king continued his interrogation.

"He did, but that had nothing to do with the reason the free folk were allowed to come in."

"Well, Lord Commander. I decided to come to the aid of the Night's Watch because the raven I received from Bowen Marsh, begging for help to defend the Wall from the wildlings. Tell me, what am I to do now that I arrive and see the wildlings walking around as if they owned the place? In particular, one walks around with your own direwolf, and she carries a babe on her hands. Is it yours?"

Arya turned to Jon then, thinking back of how his eyes had looked fondly to the lands beyond the wall the day before as he took her atop the Wall. She wondered if there was a reason why he understood Gendry and her better than she had expected. 

"No."

"Is that not your direwolf?"

"It is."

"And the babe?"

"It's not mine," Jon replied with a steady voice. "I took vows. The babe she cares for is not hers, it is her late sister and Mance Rayder's. Dalla died birthing him during the last battle before Mance, and I came to an arrangement."

"The wildlings," the red priestess spoke then. "They consider Mance King-Beyond-the Wall, do they not?"

"They do."

"Interesting. There is king's blood in the child's veins."

Arya felt Gendry flinch at the red witch's apparent elation at discovering the parentage of the child.

"It's not like that," Jon tried to explain, sensing danger. "For the free folk, power does not transfer from father to son."

"Still," the witch replied but said nothing more.

The king stared and smiled slightly. Jon knew then that he had already learned all of it, but he wished for that interrogation anyway.

"I also heard about the prisoner you keep in the ice cells."

"Cregan Karstark," Jon replied, unashamed.

"His crime?"

"His cousin, Alys Karstark, came seeking refuge. Her brother, Harrion, is the true heir, but her uncle Arnolf meant to marry her to his own son, twice widowed and at least thirty years her senior. Alys told us of her uncle's plans, to marry her, sire an heir through her, and make sure her brother is dispatched, as Arnolf is in cahoots with Roose Bolton and the Lannisters."

"All of this just her word."

Jon squirmed in his seat, before speaking, "Well, _your grace._ She also informed us that her uncle, Arnolf Karstark, had news of you. He has been keeping tabs on your progress and sending ravens to the current Warden of the North. She also informed me that her dear uncle plans to offer his loyalties to you, only to sell you off to Roose Bolton."

Stannis stared at the young Lord Commander for a while, and after sharing a look with his red advisor, he spoke, "Very well, Lord Commander. It would seem that I owe you thanks then."

Jon felt then as if he had passed some sort of test. That king may have been acting as if it was the end of something, but it was clearly just the beginning of something far worse for Jon. 

* * *

Ramsey sat at the table at the Lord's solar at Winterfell, digging into a juicy cut of steak. The finely-carved silver knife slid through the flesh as if it was butter, and blood spilled on the plate. As he lifted it to his mouth, the juices poured out of the corner of his mouth, but he did not worry about wiping it with the napkin left unused next to the plate. After a while, he lifted the bejeweled goblet and drank from it. As the Arbor Gold hit his throat, he grimaced and spat it out on the floor. He yelled at the servant girl and threw the goblet at her, hitting her on the temple.

"Take this shit away and bring me ale, wench!"

The girl bent over to pick up the goblet and bowing she disappeared from the room, leaving a trail of blood.

It was then that Ramsey looked towards his father, who remained sitting at the other end of the table, observing him quietly. Goblet, plate, and utensils were set in front of him, but they remained empty. 

"Do you have something to say, _father_?" the young man dared Roose to scold him for his behavior.

"I was just wondering if you have already gotten tired of your wife," he spoke slowly.

"I grow tired of every bitch I lay with, you will have to be more specific."

"Yes, I've heard of your hunting parties," the Warden of the North spoke in an even tone. "I do not mind what you do with your hounds, but you would be wise to favor your wife's chambers. You know we need your she-wolf to bear you an heir soon."

Ramsey stared at his father from across the table and smiled, still with the bloody juices staining his lips.

"Like you? I can see your fat wife growing fatter by the day," he then knitted his eyebrows in mocked worry as he continued, "I hope the gods make sure she births a live one, poor stepmother, with her father and brothers killed."

"Who cares of the Freys?" his father added. "What we should care is about us Boltons, and she grows a Bolton boy in her womb, the maester tells me."

"How lucky! I must congratulate my dear mother, then, _in person_. And you, father, mayhaps you won't need me after all."

Roose stared at his son, and the same pale eyes stared back. Despite what the maester had said, he knew who had killed his firstborn, Domeric. 

"Nonsense," he replied instead. "Your brother is nothing still and can't do anything for our family yet. It is _you_ who will plant a Bolton babe on that Stark womb. No one will ever doubt us then as the rightful Wardens of the North as long as she breeds you a living child. A whole littler, if possible."

"Don't worry, father. I do plenty of plowing on her field," he responded with a wink. "But that is not what really worries you, is it? I've seen the ravens coming daily."

Roose signaled for another servant to fill his cup with hippocras, but he requested nothing more. After that, he spoke, "It is as I feared. The Moat has fallen."

"The Iron Born?" Ramsey asked.

"No, Stannis Baratheon and some Stark foundling."

"A Stark? They're all dead."

"A Stark is chained to her bed upstairs," Roose pointed out with his characteristic soft tone.

"You knew what I meant."

"I don't know who this Stark is, but they say she walks with a direwolf."

"She?" Ramsey asked. "Sansa Stark? There are no more Stark bitches left."

Roose remained silent, staring at his son with milky eyes. 

"You know something else?" Ramsey asked, fearing his father was keeping something from him.

"No, not for sure," Roose responded. "It could be anyone. It matters not."

"It will matter if she walks with a direwolf. The one you brought me as a bride has no direwolf."

"Not all Starks had them. It may be a tall tale."

"What will you do?"

"What I've always done. Peel away their credibility. For all, we know this is another of Ned Stark's bastards, and this direwolf is nothing but a common wolf."

"Who do you suspect to have betrayed us?"

_'Manderly, for sure,'_ Roose thought. But who else? Maybe all, even Barbrey Dustin. All of them came into his home, holding presents and pledging fealty, all of them hypocrites. 

It didn't matter. 

He would crush them all. Pluck their feathers one by one, and skin them alive. He had done it before, he would do it again. 

Ramsey stood up without asking for his leave, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"Where are you going?" he asked his son and heir.

"To see my _lovely_ lady wife, as you instructed me, father. And fuck our insurance into her tight little cunt." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, I know this one is another info-dump chapter, but I see more action and new developments in the coming ones. At this point I think this will be at the very least 25 chapters, we shall see.
> 
> And in a non-related topic, with this chapter this fic is now my longest one, in terms of word count. I have just surpassed the 112,000+ words of The King and the Master of War. A silly bit, but it makes me happy as I never imagined I would ever write something longer than that. 
> 
> So thank you all silent and spoken readers, this fic has gotten to this point because of you.
> 
> Anyways, looking forward to your theories and guesses.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry watch the daybreak atop the Wall as many secrets are both shared and kept at Castle Black. Meanwhile, across the Bay of Seals a black direwolf must be convinced to rejoin its pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a lot and this chapter kept growing so much I split it in two. I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I've seen more new names with kudos, thank you to all of you new silent readers, I hope you are enjoying the story. And to you, who have taken the time to not only read but write down your comments, thank you, you have no idea how much you keep me motivated and writing.
> 
> Hey, Badge, there is a little scene there just for you, you'll know which one it is. 💕

[ ](https://imgur.com/RctzrCX)

Melisandre stood outside the heavy oak door of the main chambers of the King's Tower. The lit brazier was set up on the stone walkway in between the merlons. As the cold wind of the north whistled and blew her red tresses, she continued praying in her native tongue. There was no room for doubt, as the queen herself had pleaded on her knees to gain the favor of R'hllor. 

The red priestess threw in leech after leech that she had pulled from the king's chest earlier that evening. The silence of the night was only pierced by the low hum of her prayers, the hissing of the burning leeches, and, from time to time, the queen's loud wails. The loud sounds of the royal coupling threatened to distract her, but Melisandre managed to keep her litany steady.

The red priestess moved her hands over the open flames, and the sounds of the heavy wooden frame of the featherbed dragging over the stone floor got louder as the king did his duty. The noises from the royal chambers grew in a crescendo, with the king's grunting punctuating every one of his thrusts. Melisandre of Asshai didn't have to be inside the chamber to witness it, as it played for her in the dancing flames in the brazier. The queen was lying on her back, bare below the waist with her lower half hanging off the bed, her skirts lifted, and her legs spread. Selyse had tried to set them around the king's hips, but Stannis held on to her knees, forcing them apart and over the bed. The queen had at least found purchase with one foot perched against the post on the corner of the large four-poster bed.

Stannis' breeches were unlaced and pulled down barely enough to allow for the coupling, while the rest of his body was covered. The tops of the queen's breasts heaved, threatening to escape her gown, but the king had not attempted to loosen the lacings of her finely-embroidered dress. The sumptuous bed was surrounded by hundreds of candles, as Selyse had been adamant about having as much of R'hllor's fires witness their coupling and finally bless them with the favor they so desired. The queen had made a sacrifice of her own earlier. She prayed, prostrated before a fire. Melisandre directed her fervent chanting, pleading the Lord of Light to allow her husband's seed to catch on her womb and quicken into a strong boy, one that would grow tall like Stannis, and hardy, impervious to disease and war.

With one final grunt, the king gave his last stroke, and the grating of wood on stone stopped. Melisandre continued her prayers and stared at the flames, trying to spy what was so desired to no avail. After a few moments, the king came out, wearing his golden cloak lined with black fur around him, and his priestess noticed that he carried a meticulously folded bundle of soft cloth, speckled with wet pink stains.

"My king," she said as she bowed.

King Stannis handed her the bundle with his left hand, and it didn't escape her attention that it was bandaged.

"The queen sends her offering to our lord," he spoke, and Melisandre let the cloth unravel and fall into the flames.

"The product of your coupling?"

The king nodded and started unwrapping the bandage from his palm.

"Are you hurt, your grace?"

"The queen insisted on having herself anointed with king's blood," he explained, letting the blood-stained gauze feed the fire and disintegrate almost immediately.

Meanwhile, Melisandre took his hand with her left, and she placed her right over it, chanting a prayer the king could not understand.

"Have you seen anything yet?" he asked, pulling his hand back once she was done.

"Not here," she admitted. "We must light the nightfires from atop the Wall. I've already arranged several braziers be set there."

"Lead the way then, Lady Melisandre."

* * *

As they ascended in the iron cage, the king seemed uneasy. Melisandre spoke to distract her king of whatever worries plagued his mind.

"Did you know there is a _dragon_ hidden all the way up here?" she said, interrupting the wind's hiss.

"A dragon?" the king asked, turning to face her, with eyebrows knit.

The red priestess had to admit she liked whenever she managed to capture the attention of her king in such a way. It happened whenever the flames disclosed their hidden meanings and fed her secrets to share with her one true king. She liked it when he stared at her, with the intensity of the blue of his eyes, as they shone that night, with the light of the oil lamp she carried. 

"A Targaryen descendant," she informed him, and while this secret was not a direct revelation from her god, it still yielded the success that she craved. 

"Are you sure?"

"The fires confirmed it," she added.

The information had come from the Lord Commander's very mouth, and later, while the king and queen coupled, R'hllor had shown her a pale grey dragon in the snow, with dead white eyes. There was no doubt in her mind, not after making inquiries and learning that the centenarian maester of the Night's Watch was blind. 

"Aemon Targaryen," Melisandre added. 

"Aemon, son of Maekar," Stannis explained, remembering his childhood lessons with Maester Cressen. "A third son who could have been king."

"An old man in whose veins runs the blood of many kings," the red woman added, with pride, and a spark in her red eyes.

Stannis was no fool, he had heard all of Melisandre's mentions of king's blood since they reached Castle Black. He knew the god he had chosen to follow to fulfill his destiny was a greedy one, whose debts had to be paid with death and fire. All that time, he thought he had already paid his debt. Still, he felt rapidly approaching a fork in the road: either he would have to accept the path that led to more questionable deeds at a far steeper price, or he would have to fail to do his duty and claim his right because he didn't have the steel demanded to sit on the Iron Throne. 

"What do you want to do with the old man or the little wildling princeling?"

"You know it's not what I want. It's what the Lord of Light demands. A blood sacrifice."

"Is this what I must do to claim my right? Is this what R'hllor demands as payment?"

"My king," the woman spoke, tilting her beautiful face, one that gave Stannis gooseflesh. "You got it all around, it is not the one true god doing your bidding for payment. It has always been you doing his bidding and getting rewarded for it."

Stannis' blood felt suddenly like the ice water that wept over the side of the Wall, and the red eyes of his priestess seemed foreign, in a way they hadn't been when she first step foot on Dragonstone. He opened his mouth to speak, but the cage came to a halt as it reached the top. Melisandre was already getting the gate open and walking out. Stannis followed her until they reached the two braziers set up for them some yards away from the warming shed where the men guarding the Wall stood.

The king stood there, watching as his priestess placed one hand over each of the braziers, and the kindling on them sparked alight without the need of flint. The flames bloomed and licked her palms, but she didn't move them away until her chanting ended. She then stood to the side, allowing the king to stare into the flames that grew in size, giving the dark blue of the northern night a warm orange hue.

Melisandre allowed Stannis to stare for a long time, while she did the same with the other brazier. This time, she did not ask him what he saw nor walked him through his vision. The king saw a familiar image, the double-edged sword of his desires. He had a sword aflame in his hand and a crown set on his head, but the crown shone molten orange, alight, and his eyes were dancing flames. Stannis scrunched up his eyes, trying to dispel the familiar image. When they opened again, he had already given up seeing anything different, but he saw himself from behind, with the same glowing sword on his hand. In front of him, in an open field of snow, an army of white specters with flaming blue eyes charged towards him, followed by thousands of reanimated corpses.

"Enough!" Stannis yelled, and at once, the flames in his brazier died.

Melisandre looked at him then and knew better than to ask for his visions.

"Would you like to know what I see in the flames, my king?"

Stannis nodded, hoping she could see something else.

Something more. 

"You, leading a large Northern army."

"Wildlings?"

"Not just them. Thousands of Northern Westerosi men and the wildlings kinned to them. I see you going through a winter storm and taking a castle. I see you heeding the advice of Jon Snow."

There were other things Melisandre saw in her fires, but she had learned that there were things in her visions that required more than one nightfire to decipher, and thus she kept them to herself.

"Enough for tonight," the king declared, and Melisandre moved her hand over her flames making them die.

On the ride down, the king stayed silent as his priestess observed him. She had learned that there was hardly ever fire left in him to shadowbind anything in her womb. Still, she wondered, seeing the leftover blue coals of his eyes, if there wasn't even fire enough for his matrimonial duties and those couplings were killing him slowly as much as laying with her would. She hoped that if R'hllor was ever going to bless the queen's womb with an heir, that that night's offering was enough, as she doubted there was anything left over.

* * *

Gendry woke to the chill in the air in the small cell they called theirs at Castle Black. He lifted his head slightly and opened only one eye as his hand searched the straw mattress, searching for his wife. His eye was still blurry with sleep, and the cell was dark, with only the dying fire in the hearth. Looking towards the small window, he could see it was still a while before dawn.

"Where are you going?" he asked, only reaching her naked hip before she stood up, and his hand slid down onto the bed. 

"Come back to bed, it's cold without you," Gendry pleaded.

Arya turned towards him and smiled, pulling her smallclothes over her legs and said, "Really? _You_ are the one cold? I must say, despite your southron blood, you are always a living furnace when you sleep."

"It's the fires from the forge. They've gotten under my skin," Gendry mumbled against his pillow. "And besides, the more reason for you to come back and let me keep _you_ warm."

Arya lifted one eyebrow and declared, "I'm a Northerner, I'm not afraid of a bit of cold."

That prompted Gendry to sit up and wipe the sleep from his eyes, focusing on seeing his wife, standing up, and doing the ties on the side of her smallclothes.

"Where are you going?" he repeated. "It's still night time."

"Not for long," she replied as she dug in their trunks for more clothes. "There is something to see."

He rose from bed immediately, and he embraced her from behind, as she laced the quilted stays over her chest. Gendry had to admit that he was pleased Arya had stopped binding her breasts with the long strips of cloth, in the way that left her skin marred and bruised. She had switched to wearing the Northern quilted undergarment, as layering was vital for staying warm that far north. His Northern wife had explained it all during their sea voyage. But at that precise moment, he would have preferred she didn't cover her lovely breasts at all.

"There is plenty to see here," he said as his right hand sneaked in under the left flap of the stays to cup a teat that perked up as soon as his thumb brushed it in the way he had learned she liked the most.

Arya couldn't stop herself from sighing but continued lacing the stays as well as she could with his hands in the way. She had to pull his hand from her teat to thread the laces through the next eyelet, but Gendry simply took the advantage to do the same with the opposite breast. 

His mouth came to the shell of her ear, and after gnawing on it, he whispered, "come back to bed with me."

"I'm not sleepy," she replied, but Gendry could hear the tease in her words.

"Well, I'm not sleepy either," he replied, and holding on to her tighter, he added, " _now_."

Arya laughed and leaned back for a moment, letting herself relish on their flirting.

"I know, but there is something I want to show you. I promise you'll like it."

"I already like _it_ ," he mumbled as he bit and kissed her neck.

"Not _that_ , stupid!” she said, swatting at him and going back to their trunks to pull more clothing out. She threw a pair of breeches and a tunic at him, and she barked, "Get dressed, and make sure to layer up, it will be cold up there."

"Up there?" he asked, already pulling the breeches over his legs, and adjusting himself.

"At the Wall. I want to see the daybreak from up there, and I thought you'd like to share that with me."

Gendry smiled. While the idea of staying in bed with Arya, finding new ways to explore each other sounded more than appealing, the way her eyes looked, telling him she wanted to share with him such a meaningful experience melted his heart. 

"Alright, m'lady. I'll freeze my balls off for that."

Arya grinned as she continued dressing, and once her breeches and shirt were on, and she finished lacing her riding boots, she added, "Don't worry, I'll keep _you_ warm."

* * *

Arya showed him inside the winch iron cage that would take them to the top, And as they ascended, Gendry seemed more interested in the pulley system than in the massive wall of ice.

"I didn't bring you here to look at the way this cage works, you know."

"No," he replied, turning to her and hugging her, "but can you see how well designed this is?"

He was burying his head in the crook of her neck, trying to move her fur cloak out of the way to bare a bit of skin to kiss when the cage came to a stop with a jerk.

"Can we please get out so I can show you something magnificent?" Arya asked.

As they walked out of it and Gendry had time to look, he felt his breath falter. He suspected the height and the cold, and maybe a bit of emotion, thinking just how far from Flea Bottom he had gotten, but a part of him let him know that it was not only those things.

Arya's voice distracted him, "I guess Stannis and Melisandre were here," she said, signaling towards the empty braziers left behind.

"I'm sure we'll be hearing about their visions soon."

Arya came to his side and embracing him, she asked, "So, what do you think?"

"It's truly breathtaking," he said as the sun's first rays could be seen over the horizon to their right.

"How are your balls," Arya asked against his chest. "Frozen already?"

Gendry let out a hearty laugh at her comment.

"Not quite," he said and moving her in front of him, where she could rest her forearms over the railing as he enfolded her from behind, his body firmly against hers.

"There," he declared, "that should help keep them attached to me."

They stayed embracing for a while, with the light of the day revealing more and more of the white view. After a while, Arya could sense something in Gendry's mind.

"Ask me already."

"Ask you what?"

"Don't play dumb, I can feel the worry in your head."

He buried his head in her hair and inhaled deeply, smelling the wild, woodsy scent that always seemed to nest in his wife's brown locks. 

"It's just," he spoke against her head, "there is something I wanted to ask about your wolf dreams."

He felt her shudder in his arms, and he knew it was not the right kind. He held her tighter, to let her know her skinchanging did not scare him.

"What is it?" Arya asked, turning so she could see him in the eye, but she remained caged between his arms. 

"You truly are her when you dream her, are you not?"

"Yes, I've told you that already," she said, placing her gloved hand over the beard he had started to grow to protect him from the cold.

"Have you ever…," he started to ask, but he faltered and started again, "while you're her, have you been…"

"What?"

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, and said the word then, "Mounted?"

Arya laughed at how hard it was for him to ask his question, and how his cheeks looked flushed, much more than what the cold was causing.

"Are you _jealous_?"

It was ludicrous for her to even imagine that he may feel jealous of the wolves with whom Nymeria mated.

"Well, yes," he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck, "a bit, but not like that. I just wanted to know if you have felt _it_ , while inside of Nym."

He looked at Arya, and her big doe eyes were just staring, her eyebrows narrowing slowly.

Gendry groaned at how difficult the topic was proving to be.

"I guess I _am_ jealous, but I'm jealous of you experiencing _that_ when we haven't-,"

"We have," Arya interrupted him, closing her hands over his lower back. 

"You know what I mean," he said, closing his eyes. "Not for real, _not yet._ Until it’s _safe_.”

Arya understood what he meant, but something that made her skittish pushed her to make light of the deeper meaning of their words, whenever they talked of the bond between them.

"I know, I know," she replied and took a deep breath, and explained, "I imagine Nymeria has mated before, but I never when I've been in her."

She stared into his eyes, letting him search within hers, and only when he seemed to believe her, she pushed herself on to her tiptoes, and kissed him softly on the lips. 

"I wish I could share _that_ with you," Gendry vowed with eyes closed, as soon as their lips parted, but while he could feel her breath still on him. 

"You want to mount me?" she asked, making his eyes open at once, in time to see her devilish smile. 

"No!"

"No?" Arya asked, making her hands climb from his lower back to the back of his neck.

"You know what I mean, Arya," he explained, feigning frustration, but enjoying the way his wife liked toying with him. "I want to experience many things with you. Yes, like _that_ , but other things as well. I wish I knew what it was to be a wolf."

It was right then that a gust of wind scraped her cheek and made her hair blow behind her, and all at once, it became real that they were finally in the North, together, atop a Wall built a thousand years before. 

"You already are," she explained with a smile. "You eat with a wolf, you lie with a wolf."

"Is that enough to make _me_ a wolf?"

"You have already claimed a wolf," she explained, and swallowing just for the need of courage, she added, "…and she has claimed you back."

Gendry kissed her hard then. A handful of moonturns prior, he had kneeled by a weirwood tree wondering about the magic of her people while they made promises to each other, but he would have to lie to say that it felt as portentous as the words she had just said.

"Want it or not," she continued, "you are part of our pack, not just me, but Nymeria and Ghost, and even Jon."

They stay intertwined atop the Wall until their stomachs started growling with hunger, and they had to find their way back, but before they climb onto the iron cage, Gendry asked something that only then occurred to him. 

"Are all Starks skinchangers?"

Arya had never wondered that until recently. Her bond with Nymeria had been natural, and so close to the identity she had tried to shed at the House of Black and White. 

"I don't know for sure,” she replied.

Gendry seemed to take that in stride, and after nodding, as he worked the winch, he said, "Mayhaps, you should ask your brother."

* * *

Val walked towards the sparse rooms where Craster's daughter, Gilly, slept with that monster of hers. Val would rather not have to deal with the woman, but Dalla's child needed milk, and her own breasts, while full, were dry, as Jarl had never gotten her with child before he died and the babe required nourishment.

Gilly was placing Val's nephew back into the makeshift cradle that was just a wooden box with a mattress made of straw and a piece of soft fur on top. Gilly quickly tucked her breast back into her dress and held her own skinny babe. Val didn't approve of the aberration Gilly had given birth to, but she was the one with the milk to feed both babes, and Val was in no position to deny her.

"He's full, the greedy little thing, I'm sure he'll sleep now," she said, as she nodded and left the rooms, giving Val some time with the motherless babe.

Val stared at her nephew. He looked so much like his father, but still, she tried to spy her late sister in him. She wondered if Jarl's seed had quickened, and she had given birth to a babe, would it have looked like its father as well? It hardly seemed fair, but her mother once explained to Val that it was always the way, the babe had to look like its father, as the mother can never doubt the child is hers, but there has to be something to tie the man to the babe, to make him want to protect it.

Yet Mance wasn't there to see that the child looked more and more like him each day, and her sister was long gone. She wondered where Mance was and if he had found the crow's castle, to rescue a sister who arrived at Castle Black on her own foot. Val wondered if Mance was still trying to find the fake imprisoned sister, instead of being back there, caring for his people, and his son, figuring a way to keep them safe now that the kneeler king had arrived and looked at the free folk as nothing but more bodies to fight his war.

She had been thinking that while her finger brushed the sleeping babe's pink cheek, and she let her guard down, and before she knew it, the red witch was already in front of her, extending her hand to touch her nephew.

"What are you doing here?!” Val barked, snatching the babe from its cradle, bringing him against her chest, which made him stir and wail.

"Just looking at the little prince," the woman responded, feigning innocence.

"He's not a prince."

"His father is the King-Beyond-the-Wall, is he not?"

"His father is Mance."

The witch smiled too widely to be truthful, and she asked, "are you his mother? Is Mance your man?"

Val could read on the red woman's face that she already knew the answers to her questions, but she clearly wanted Val to answer them anyway.

"You know already who I am, _witch_."

"What's his name, your nephew?" the woman asked, not taking offense on Val's tone.

"He's got none," Val replied. “We free folk don't name our children until we know they will survive."

"Is it because he won't live to earn his name?" the witch asked. Val almost shouted a name to her face, so she'd know that the babe in her arms would grow to his nameday, and beyond until he was a boy and then a man who could climb the wall, and kill as many kneelers as he could, to avenge them all, but still she remained silent.

"Do not worry, I'm on my way. I just wanted to see the two babes, this one, and the one on the other girl's arms, the wet nurse, who left with the thin one on her arms."

"The monster," Val said as if by instinct.

"Is that his name?"

"It is to me," Val replied. "Now leave."

* * *

Gilly had left her rooms to give Val some time with the babe. He was bigger and fatter than her son, despite having been born later. He was also greedy, taking much more of her milk than hers, and Gilly thought that mayhaps the child knew how unlikely his birth had been. Her heart had ached for its mother, dying after all the pain, not even getting the reward of holding her child afterward. She hadn't wanted to be taken by her own father and made to carry a child that was her son and her brother, but the moment he had come out of her and Gilly looked at his face, she knew he was only hers. She didn't care what people thought of him, or of her.

The only thing that made her feel guilty was how jealous she was to see the newborn babe, sucking greedily at her teat, and growing fatter, as she wished her own son would. Her sweet son, he grew with her nourishment too, but Gilly feared something would pry him from her hands.

As she hurried outside, she ran into the red woman, who had tried to spy at the babe strapped to her chest, asking if that was the son of the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Gilly kept walking, not letting her look at her son, not even at a wisp of his hair. She didn't know much of the woman, just that her instinct told her she was bad. Gilly continued walking, looking for Sam.

She ran into him in the training yard, busy in his comings and goings, from Maester Aemon's quarters, the rookery and everywhere else, mending and healing, and just being the old maester's eyes.

"Gilly, Gilly, wait," Sam said when he noticed her walking briskly away from everything. "What is it? Is he alright?"

"He is. Both are," Gilly explained. "It's that wretched witch."

"Who? Lady Melisandre?" he asked.

She huffed in a way that worried Sam.

"I don't know what it is, Sam, but she's not good, she means ill to my babe and Mance's."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

"No, you don't know! You have not had a child in you, and at your teat to understand!"

Gilly was right, Sam couldn't understand. He would never understand, but still, he tried.

"I'll keep you safe, I promise. You and the babe. I promise I will keep you both safe."

"And what of Mance's son?"

"I'll speak to Jon."

Gilly just shook her head, but she let him embrace her lightly, fearful of his crow brothers noticing, and after she left, Sam stayed there, still trying to understand.

* * *

Arya went to her brother's solar, and as she approached the door, she could hear a loud argument. She made her steps slower, and softer, slipping into her training as easily as donning a cloak. From where she stood, against the stone wall next to the open door, she could make out most of what was yelled.

"...not my Lord Commander!" a man's voice shouted.

"It was a fair process, and more than two-thirds of our brothers decided to seat me on this chair. So, despite your personal preferences, Janos, I _am_ your Lord Commander, and you must do as I say, as I would if our roles were reversed," Jon stated with an even but stern tone.

"You are nothing but a _turncloak bastard_ and a _warg_ , and you brought in all those wildlings because you are a _wilding lover_!"

"I'm a man of the Night's Watch, and I took vows, just like you did. Everything I've done has been to honor those vows and the promises I made."

"Did that include _killing_ your brother and _fucking_ that wildling girl of yours?"

Arya heard the scrape of Jon's chair being pushed back.

"Enough! I do not care if you hate me, but you will _respect_ me as your Lord Commander. This is my final warning!"

"And what would you do if I don't?"

"You don't want to test me."

Nothing else was said after that, but after a few moments, the bald, stout man came out stomping, without paying attention to Arya, who stared as he left. She saw him reach the training yard, and meet with another black brother, whispering something as they both kept looking around. Once they were out of her sight, Arya finally went inside her brother's solar, and she found him with his head against the desk.

"I could take care of him. Make him disappear without anyone being the wiser."

Her words made Jon lift his head, and the small grin it sprouted let Arya know that he thought she was only jesting. It made her ache, but she decided against letting her brother know, not only that she had been serious, but that she possessed the skills to make it happen. She did, though, make a mental note of the things the man had said, and she decided to keep track of every step the man took.

"No need, but there is something you can do instead," he said.

"And what is that?"

"Walk with me, I need to get out of this place, if only for a while."

After they went down the wooden stairs, Arya wondered if they'd go up the Wall again, but after Ghost joined them and Jon gave some instructions to Satin, her brother walked past the winch cage and continued until they reached a thick wooden gate. Jon took a large ring of keys from his belt and unlocked it, as he did with the three iron gates down the narrow and twisting tunnel, making sure to lock each one behind them. The last gate was massive in its thickness, and it had a large iron lock. 

When they were on the other side, Arya felt slightly disappointed in how anticlimactic it was. It was just a beautiful sight of a snowy forest not too different from her memories of the wolfswood outside Winterfell.

They walked for a while until they reached a wooded area, where Jon leaned against a tree, and Arya joined him. 

"How can I help?"

"Make me forget that I'm Lord Commander," Jon asked her as Ghost walked around, sniffing the air.

Arya stared at her brother in profile, and for a moment, she felt she could see her father: the same worry that had marred his face when he was Hand of the King. She had to close her eyes tightly, trying to dispel the image. 

"Do you ever dream you're inside of Ghost?" she asked.

Jon turned towards her and stared for a while. It seemed like her attempt at distracting him had done the exact opposite. 

"Are you asking because of what Janos said back there?"

"What does that have to do with this?" Arya asked, shrugging. 

"He called me a _warg_."

"What is that?"

"What you just asked me. _Skinchanging,_ some people call it. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Arya nodded.

"Do you?"

"When I was younger, I thought there were just dreams. That I dreamed of Nymeria because I missed her. We parted ways at the Crossroads when father, Sansa, and I were first going to King's Landing. But then it was more than dreams. You know?"

"I do," Jon replied, looking towards his direwolf.

"You dreamed of Ghost?"

"Yes," he replied, and after taking a long breath, he explained, "But then I spent some time with the free folk. I met a man who warged different animals. He flew inside and eagle, but when the eagle died during a battle while he warged it, he went mad."

"He could do it while he was awake?"

"Yes, and at his will."

"Can you?"

"Not really. I've only warged Ghost. I've slipped into him outside my dreams, but not at will. What about you?"

"Besides Nymeria, only a cat, while I was in Braavos, but I was blind at the time. I can't say I know how. Mayhaps it was because I couldn't see with my own eyes."

Jon stared at her for a long while, and then, he spoke, "I'm sorry I was not there."

Arya shook her head. 

"That was not nice for me to say."

"Still."

Arya then turned towards him.

"But you _were_ ," she said, trying to let him see in her grey eyes just how much was true, "I only made it so far because of _Needle_."

A wide smile broke on her brother's face, and for a moment, he was once more the favorite older brother she remembered. "I'm glad."

"Do you think we all can… _could_ … warg?"

"I don't know, but I've wondered. When people talked of Robb as the young wolf. I hope he could."

Arya thought of her brother paraded with Grey Wind's head attached to his shoulders, and she shook her head, but Jon didn't notice, and he continued speaking.

"For the longest time I thought you had all died, and though I knew Sansa was alive, I also knew Lady was dead."

"How could you?" Arya asked. "Did father write to you?"

"No," Jon replied, knitting his dark eyebrows. "I just felt it, through Ghost."

"I never thought of that," Arya said, and then an idea sparked in her mind. "Do you feel Summer and Shaggy? Can you feel Nymeria?"

"I never tried, but I guess they never ached like Grey Wind and Lady."

"They are alive, they really are, aren't they?" Arya said with a wide smile that warmed Jon's heart.

"I truly hope so."

They stared at Ghost for a while in silence, until Arya spoke again, "Those other things Janos called you."

"A _turncloak and wildling lover_?"

"Yes. I know you wouldn't break your vows, but did you love a wildling woman?"

Her brother exhaled, and Arya wondered if she had asked something he wasn't ready to share.

"There is a lot you do not know," Jon finally said. "Do you want me to tell you?"

"Only if you want."

Jon told her then about Qhorin Halfhand and Ygritte.

"Do you miss her?"

_'Like a hand or a leg you lose and it continues to ache,'_ he wanted to say.

"I think of her often," he answered instead.

* * *

It had not been easy to find him. 

More than that, even. 

It took wit to stay alive enough to find the place where the boy lived with his wildling mother, and Davos thanked the Seven for the tongue they had given him.

Either the Seven or the cunning men from Flea Bottom and the pirates of the Narrow Sea. 

Whoever it was, he thanked them all for how quick words came to his lips when it meant staying alive. 

At first, Davos thought one of the magnars may be protecting him, but in the end, it was clever that the wildling woman who took him just passed him off as her son. They lived in a hut not far from one of the settlings of Skagos. 

The woman, Osha, had been harder to convince than the men who tried to scare him into believing they would really eat him. In the end, she allowed him to see the boy. He looked very different than his sister, he was tall, probably too tall for his age, and his hair was long and reddish. 

“Who are you?”

“My name is Davos, and I was sent here by your sister.”

“I have no sister.”

“Arya told me you’d say that. She said to tell you that you were once part a pack, just like Shaggy was,” Davos explained as Arya had instructed him.

The boy scowled, but there was recognition behind his blue eyes.

“Who told you that name?”

“Your sister. She told me all the names of the Stark direwolves: Grey Wind, Ghost, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, and yours, Shaggy Dog. Will you show him to me?”

The boy thought for a second, and standing up, he whistled, and a great black beast came to stand right next to him, and the direwolf bared his teeth at the newcomer. 

Davos inhaled and hoped Lady Arya was right, and he didn’t go all that way to end up eaten by a direwolf. 

“Are you not afraid of Shag?”

“I am, you have no idea how much, but I’ve seen his sister, Nymeria. She accepted me as her ally, just like your sister, Arya, did.”

“Arya?” the name tasted both foreign and familiar in Rickon’s mouth. 

“How do we know you are for real?” the woman asked. “How do we know you are not one of them _kneelers_ who tried to kill him before?”

After exhaling, Davos spoke, “You really can’t, can you? I can tell you things that Arya told me to tell you. She is at Castle Black with your brother Jon. Your sister told me that the pack must stay together to survive, but a lone wolf will die in the winter. She also said you were far too young when she left, and she doesn’t know if you even remember her. But she told me something else that she hopes is true to you, as it is to her. She told me to ask you if you go to sleep a man, but wake at night a direwolf.”

Osha turned to look at the boy she raised as her son, whose jaw went taut.

Neither of them spoke, and Davos took it as a sign to continue speaking, “She says that the Starks are tied to their direwolves. I’ve seen a bit myself, how Nymeria bares her teeth and attacks when Arya is distrustful of someone, and I’ve also seen her be as tame as a puppy with those your sister cares for.”

The boy thought for a moment, then he turned around, and headed to the woods with his direwolf by his side. Davos looked at the woman to know what had happened.

“He’ll spend the night out, and tomorrow you will get your answer. Tonight you can stay here. But I tell you one thing, if he decides to go with you I will go as well, you won’t just take him from me.”

“No, I imagine you won’t.”

“Very well. If he agrees, we shall go with you to his sister, but if you are lying, _kneeler_ , you will die. Either by my knife or Shag will fill his belly with your flesh.”

Davos smiled and replied, “I have no doubt of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I'm really wondering what you thought of this chapter, since I was ambivalent and moved scenes here and there, between this chapter and the next. 
> 
> Once more, thank you for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crows, wildlings and the king's men come together at Shieldhall, where Stannis makes a pledge, but he also plants the seeds for future support. Lord Commander Snow must thread through very tricky waters, along with his sister and good brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter grew quite a lot. I considered cutting the last scene and moving it to the next chapter, but I followed my gut and kept it where it was in my outline. 
> 
> So forgive me for giving you the longest chapter to date in this fic, I hope you don't get exhausted reading it. 
> 
> There is a little something in this chapter going all the way back to High Heart. I hope you like it.
> 
> Thank you all constant friends, and thank you to all of you who are new to this story.

[ ](https://imgur.com/CnirZe5)

Alayne stared at the peaceful body of the boy on the bed. It was odd to see him calm, but she had the milk of the poppy to thank for it. His long hair half-covered his face, and it made her think of a babe from another life, barely three namedays old, with wild auburn hair. Though Sweetrobin was no babe, how old was he? Two and ten? Three and ten? That was almost Robb's age when he was named King in the North, but the boy in front of her was no king, just Lord of the Vale, even if in name only. Mayhaps he was always a babe to her because he acted so young, younger than his real age. As if he had forever gotten stuck in the moment when his mother left him.

_'When Petyr made her fly,'_ her thoughts betrayed her.

Alayne allowed the girl with the auburn hair to reminisce some more. Rickon had been a beautiful babe with Robb's look. She wondered what he would be like had he been allowed to grow with his family, with a mother who nurtured him and a father who taught him how to be honorable. She imagined Rickon, first tumbling in the yard of Winterfell with Shaggy Dog, and then the daydream changed, and he was older, outside of the castle, in some woods she could not recognize. His hair was long, but still, it held some curls. There was no baby fat left on his face, and he looked more like a man than a child. He was caked in mud, and he had a bow and quiver on his back. 

Arya would have taught him archery or mayhaps Theon.

The cursed name made her bite her tongue and taste blood.

No, it wouldn't have been him. If it wasn't Arya, it would have been Robb, or Jon, during a visit from the Night's Watch. 

The vision was so vivid that she feared that if she extended her hand, her fingers would tangle in his hair. Rickon would have the Tully look, yet he would also have been the wildest of the Starks, just like people used to talk of her uncle Brandon. The _Wild Wolf,_ they would call him. 

Though for some reason, the boy in her vision did not smile, instead, he kept his jaw taut, and he snarled quietly as he prowled.

Alayne let her head fall, remembering that the boy she saw in her mind was dead, unlike the one in front of her. She also had to remind herself that he hadn't been a boy at all, just barely older than a babe and killed before his time. 

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to banish the thoughts from the girl in her head. When she opened them again, she stared at the boy once more, so childlike. But there were times when he didn't act like a child, when he demanded to kiss her in the mouth and sleep in her bed, or when he said he'd marry her when he was older. Still, the way he did it wasn't like a grown man, or even a green boy wanting to get his hand under a maiden's skirt. There had been times that Alayne thought the boy looked for her mother in her, a mother who would still coddle him and keep him at her breast. 

She shuddered at the thought. 

Mayhaps it was only that he took after his mother and father. He had always been frail, in body and mind, which could account for being stuck at a younger age in Alayne's mind. He was a bird, after all.

_'A bird, like his father,'_ the redhead girl sang, from the high cage where she was kept.

Yes, the old Lord of the Vale was a falcon.

_'No, a mockingbird,'_ the girl dared say. 

Alayne covered her cage with a dark piece of wool to keep the girl's thoughts out of her head. 

"Time to wake, sleepyhead," she said, sitting on the plush featherbed, but Robin didn't flinch.

His nightshirt had rolled and left part of his back uncovered, though thankfully, the blankets still covered his lower half. 

Alayne placed her hand on the exposed skin to rouse him, but instead of warmth, her fingers touched ice. She stood up at once, covering her mouth. Sweetrobin had never been this peaceful before, she had thought.

"Such a tragedy," her father spoke behind her, having come into the chamber without her knowledge.

"But he was always such a frail boy with terrible night terrors that demanded milk of the poppy, mayhaps you gave him too much, my sweet?"

"No!" Sansa yelled. "I am always careful. I did not do this."

"No, of course not, my child. It must have been his father's seed. Always weak."

The bird was out of the cage, and it was no longer white. No, this bird was red with fury and aflame.

"He was _your_ son."

Littlefinger turned to her, and his eyes were wide. Alayne thought it made him look like a different person from the always collected and smirking Petyr.

"Don't say stupid things," he finally said, after finally schooling his expression.

"I heard Aunt Lysa!" Sansa's voice came out loud, "saying _'Petyr, make me another sweet babe,'_ when you were in her bed. _"_

Petyr looked down, still with his hands clasped together. 

"I got her with child once, many years ago, and her lord father gave her tansy to cleanse the stain on his family."

"No, it was not that. Robert was always Sweetrobin to her. And as he got older, I saw more and more of you in him. That was what she kept telling you as you bedded her, but I guess you were too distracted imagining it was my mother who lay under you."

_'Or me,'_ another disgusting thought came into her head.

Littlefinger remained stoic, but Sansa saw him swallow hard. 

"It matters not. As my son, he would have inherited a few rocks on the smallest of the Fingers and a handful of brothels. As Jon Arryn's, he was Lord of the Vale."

Sansa wondered for a moment if Petyr had ever considered the possibility of her cousin being his. Still, the thought of the callousness required to do as he had with that knowledge was unthinkable.

"And now, it's all yours," Sansa recriminated.

"You know it's not, sweet _Alayne_ , it will all belong to Harry, the heir. And thankfully, now that your betrothal is official and a date has been set, you will be Lady of the Vale."

Sansa forced herself to stay calm, and try as she might, she could not bring Alayne back.

Petyr was leaving the room and calling for the maester, suddenly sounding concerned, but he took a moment to lean back into the room, where Sansa remained frozen.

"Lady of the Vale, _to start._ "

* * *

Jon stared at the large hall as if it was the first time he had laid eyes on it. The queen had tasked her men to clean Shieldhall for a large feast, where Stannis' people, the Night's Watch, and the heads of the free folk clans would eat together for the first time since the so-called king arrived. 

The hall was drafty, but at least the rats had been chased out, and the rafters mended. Yet, Jon didn't care about the irony of making the place look like it belonged at a lavish castle instead of the seat of the Night's Watch. What called the young Lord Commander's attention were the few shields left still on the walls for the black brothers that had come from known houses. 

It all belonged to a time a hundred years past or so, when the Watch had such numbers that it warranted to have a whole hall to seat the hundreds of blue-blooded men, apart from the rapers, murderers and horse thieves. It was almost ludicrous to think that there was a time when well-known knights took the black and traded their house shields for the Watch's black ones. Those shields would hang on that hall, and Maester Aemon said there was a time when the hall was decorated with all colors of the rainbow. In the last hundred years, the numbers had dwindled, and the hall was used rarely, still, as every highborn man took the black, his shield would be hung on those walls, waiting, until it was time to join the man on his funeral pyre. 

The North did not follow the Seven, and its men were not knighted. Still, they held shields, and there had been many Northern ones hung on the walls, particularly with how many more Northern lords had made the numbers of the black brothers through the years. 

Despite Benjen Stark having been lost for years, his Stark shield was still on the wall, since there had been no pyre nor tomb to house the direwolf shield. Jon liked looking at it from time to time, and that night was not the exception. He thought bitterly that while the Stark sigil felt his, he knew there was no shield hanging in there for the likes of him. Jon Snow may have been elected 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but he was still a bastard to the world, and a hundred years before, he'd be having his meals in the Common Hall, with the criminals and the other bastards who had been sent there to make sure they did not pose a threat to their trueborn brothers. 

"Jon, could I have a word?" Sam said, distracting him from his reveries.

"Of course," Jon replied, noticing that his friend seemed more restless than usual.

"Gilly mentioned Lady Melisandre coming to see Mance's child. I know it can be perfectly innocent, but Gilly has a bad feeling, both for her babe and Mance's, she's convinced she means them ill. I'm sorry to bother you with his, but I promised Gilly I'd tell you."

Jon had always thought Gilly to be bright, and her concern did not surprise him.

"I'm glad you did, Sam. Is that all? You seem concerned."

"Well, it's been a bit hectic, with so many people around. Maester Aemon has many wounds to care for, and there's the rookery to tend to. He does all the healing, but he has to rely on my eyes."

Sam took a moment, and after pursing his lips, he continued, "There is something else that has me worried, someone has sent a raven without my knowledge. I noticed that the day after King Stannis arrived, I thought it had been one of the king's men, but I was asked today if they could keep their ravens in the rookery. So, if they keep their own ravens, they wouldn't have had the need to take one of ours. I'm sorry, Jon, I should have been more vigilant."

"It's not your fault, Sam. And it is not hard to imagine who would have sent the raven."

"I will be more alert now, no one will send a raven without my knowledge."

"No, do the opposite," Arya said to the pair, who had not realized she had approached them and heard their conversation.

"My lady," Sam greeted her with a slight bow.

"I'm no lady, just Arya."

Jon smiled at how familiar her reluctance to be called a lady sounded to him.

"Sam, this is my sister Arya."

"I believe we met when we first arrived," Arya explained. "I'm sorry I was too desperate to see Jon to introduce myself then."

"I would have been too if I had been apart from a loved one for so long," Sam replied dismissing Arya's concern, but as the last words were leaving his mouth, he felt the sorrow of resigning himself to the truth that none of his siblings would ever feel the need to come to the Wall seeking him. 

"What were you saying about the rookery?" Jon asked her then.

"You have someone sending ravens behind your back, pretend you haven't noticed, and leave the rookery unattended. I will get the proof you need."

"You?" Sam asked.

"My sister was always a sneaky little thing, Sam."

Arya smiled, letting her brother think it was Arya Underfoot who could walk unseen and unheard, and not an acolyte of the House of Black and White. 

Sam agreed, and with a bow, he left the siblings to talk, as the rest of the people were finding their places. 

"Jon," Arya called, pulling at her brother's sleeve to get him closer to her, making sure no one was at earshot of what she wanted to talk to him. "I heard what Sam told you about Melisandre."

"You think she means ill to Mance's son?"

"It's not about the babe, but the blood in his veins; her god demands burning sacrifices, and she believes that there is power in king's blood."

Jon huffed, "She told me as much."

" _Anyone_ with king's blood is at risk."

Jon felt suddenly back at Mance's tent, his breath labored, remembering the stuffy heat while Dalla gave birth to her babe before dying. Something had sealed their truce, mayhaps it was the new life coming, or Dalla's ending, but Jon and Mance had reached a compromise, and over a couple thousand lives had been saved, even if Dalla's had not. 

"Mance's son, and Maester Aemon."

"Not just them, Jon."

"Gendry has king's blood, as well as his cousin. She wouldn't harm someone from Stannis' own family, would she?"

He saw Arya close her eyes, and after taking a deep breath, she exhaled, setting her big haunting grey eyes on him.

"All these moon turns I've feared what she plans to do to Gendry, as he was never more than a means to an end for Stannis," she explained, but grasping Jon's arm hard to make him understand, she whispered, "But you are missing my point. She can't know about _your_ blood."

There was king's blood pumping in Jon's veins, and he almost laughed because he had been able to forget that for a few hours. He had been busy thinking of the mother he never knew, who had been just a blurry image in his mind of a dead relative with a terrible fate. 

_'There is magic in king's blood,'_ the red priestess had said.

All his life, he was told there was bastard blood in his veins. Blood that determined who he was and what he could not do. Blood that brought shame not only to him but to his father and his trueborn children. And it turned out that the same damned blood in his veins now held some sort of power.

How the gods were fickle.

Ygritte was right. He had never known anything.

"She won't know. Not from me."

* * *

Sam was about to leave the hall for the rookery to help Maester Aemon walk to Shieldhall when Queen Selyse approached him.

"You are Melessa's first boy, the fat one, are you not?"

Samwell Tarly was used to being called fat, it hardly smarted anymore. What he was not used to being called was his mother's child. Far less, her first one. His father had wanted to erase that fact from every written record, and from the consciousness of any highborn at the Reach. It was easy, with how tall Dickon grew, just as Sam grew fat, and even if his younger brother was born the fifth, after Sam and three sisters, it was easy to make him pass as the heir.

There was no way for him to know that Selyse Florent had never considered the adjective _fat_ a pejorative one, not when used to describe a babe, as all the pitiful bodies the maesters had pulled from her body had been small and gaunt.

"I am, your grace," he replied, stuttering. "I was, at least in another life."

"I heard about you. We are family, did you know that? Your mother is my cousin. But I must say I've never been fond of your father."

"No offense taken, your grace. After all, he has never been fond of me."

"Did you know your grandfather traveled with us? Uncle Alester. You probably would have liked to meet him, but unfortunately, we lost him at the battle for the Moat."

"I'm sorry, your grace," Sam offered as condolence, more for the queen than for himself. "I never met him. Not properly, anyway."

"Pity. He was an exceptional man. A great warrior and advisor to the king."

Sam tried hard to remember if he had ever been introduced to his grandfather, but Lord Randyll Tarly had not been known for welcoming any other family that wasn't his. Sam often forgot he got any Florent blood in him, just because his mother was never referenced as anything else but Lady Melessa Tarly. 

"I'm sorry to have missed the chance to meet him, your grace," Sam said.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know about him. Now, I must get to my seat."

"Of course, your grace," Sam said, bowing as the queen walked towards the table at the dais. 

* * *

"Sam, is it?" a small voice got him to turn back to find the young girl with the greyscale's scars on her face that he knew was King Stannis' daughter. 

"Yes, your grace," Sam replied, bowing once more. 

"I'm sorry about mother, she is a bit harsh, but I think she thought she was being nice."

"No need to apologize, your grace."

"Please, call me Shireen," the young princess asked, smiling widely, "after all, as my mother mentioned, we are cousins, are we not?"

"Second cousins, I believe. I'm glad to meet you."

"I'm glad as well."

"I am so sorry I do not know much about the Florents, my father is... peculiar. I only know that my mother is a lovely lady."

"Don't worry. Most people only know about our big ears."

Sam recognized what Shireen was doing, making fun early of the thing people liked to point out and laugh to get it out of the way and waste less time in the heartache. It was something he had done plenty at Horn Hill.

"People always love to find things to make fun of," he explained, "but big ears are a great advantage. Not many people in our world understand the skill it takes to be a good listener, even less the advantages it yields."

Shireen laughed softly.

"All my life, I grew up alone," she added, "and in the span of only a few short moon turns, I have met two cousins."

"I thought I wasn't meant to see any family again, I had already resigned myself to it. So it is an honor for me to meet you, Shireen, and call you cousin."

"I heard that you are a steward to Maester Aemon."

"I am."

"I enjoy reading a lot, I wondered if I'd be allowed to peruse Maester Aemon's library."

Sam grinned almost ear to ear.

"I will talk to him, but I'm sure he'll be glad, and if you offer to read for him, it would be even better. Losing his sight and not being able to read by himself has been his greatest tragedy."

Sam was glad to see the spark in his newly-found cousin's eye.

"It will be my pleasure."

"He will be the one pleased," he replied, and after bowing, he said, "I must get him here now."

* * *

Maester Aemon asked Sam to take him to the king as soon as they arrived at Shieldhall since he had not had the chance to meet him yet. 

"Your grace," Sam said to the king as he bowed. "This is Maester Aemon, he is our maester here at Castle Black, and he wanted to greet you."

"Maester Aemon," the king called, and the old man bowed as much as he could.

"Your grace, I am glad to make your acquaintance."

"Aemon Targaryen," the red woman spoke next.

"I once was, my lady, but I renounced my name a long time ago when I forged my maester's chains. I am only Aemon. You are the lady from Asshai, are you not?"

"I am, my name is Melisandre, and I am a priestess to the Lord of Light, and you are hardly just a maester or a black brother, Aemon. I know many things that you do not."

"Oh, I know you are right, my lady. After all, to someone like you, I am merely a child."

The woman pursed her lips and grimaced a bit, Sam noticed. He couldn't understand what Maester Aemon meant, but the face the woman made told him that she certainly did.

Stannis intervened then, "Most of the world had forgotten that there were Targaryens left in Westeros, my late brother surely did."

"It is true, your grace. It has been a burden to know myself the last of my kind," the maester explained, unaware that the young Lord Commander kept throwing glances his way, concerned with his interaction with the king and his trusted advisor. 

"But here I thought I would never meet any of my kin again, and yet I also forgot I still had family in this land."

"I beg your pardon?" the king asked. 

"Your grandmother, Rhaelle, she was the youngest child of my brother Aegon."

Stannis grimaced, Sam noticed, but unaware of the king's discomfort, Maester Aemon continued, "Your grace, if you were so kind, there is a favor I wanted to ask of you. I heard you wield the fabled sword Lightbringer. I wondered if you would be so kind as to show it to me."

Stannis stared silently at the old maester and the milk layer on his eyes, he closed his mouth tightly, wondering what he meant. 

"Pardon me, Maester Aemon. I believed that you had lost your sight."

"I have. It is one of the tragedies of getting old. While I can still heal the wounded and the infirmed, I cannot do it on my own, but thankfully, young Sam here lends me his eyes. If you are so kind as to show us, Sam will describe it to me."

"Very well."

The hall was not full by then, but the moment Stannis unsheathed his sword, those present gathered around to look at the blade's sudden brightness. Arya and Gendry had seen it from afar in battle, but never in such close proximity. The shimmering lit the hall beyond the light coming from the hearths. Arya could see her brother's eyes, just as intrigued by the dancing light adorning the blade, and then, a scowl forming on Gendry's face. All throughout, Sam described what he saw to the maester, and just as it had started, the king sheathed it back into his scabbard, and then, he unbuckled the sword belt and hung it by the hearth closest to him. By then, most of the people expected at the meal had arrived, and Arya noticed her good uncle seemed impatient and indicated for everyone to take their places. 

* * *

Once seated at his place at the long table, Gendry saw the old maester walk slowly, holding on to Sam's arm. As he stopped close to him, Gendry was quick to stand up, a bit uneasy since Arya was still talking to her brother and other of the black brothers.

He was sure the man was blind because of the way his eyes where milky white, as he had seen that in some beggars' eyes at Flea Bottom, and so, it surprised him when the old maester asked him to sit down, surely knowing of his movement because of the sounds the wooden chair had made. 

"Ser Gendry," he asked as Sam helped him take a seat next to him, "if I could have a word. I am told you are a knight, are you not?"

"Yes, Maester Aemon," Gendry replied, nodding, but he felt a bit silly, realizing the man could not see him. "Just not a good one, just call me Gendry, please."

"What are you then, Gendry?"

He hadn't expected the question, and in any other person's mouth, it would have sounded offensive, but the maester looked like he was genuinely interested in knowing what Gendry would give as an answer. 

"Just a smith."

"I had heard that, from our Lord Commander, he tells me that you are now his good brother, and if things had been different, you would have joined us years ago."

"It's true."

"Forgive me for saying this, but I am glad you did not reach us before, as Jon said that without you, his lost sister would not have found her way here." 

Gendry blushed a bit and said, "I could say the same about her, more even, I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for her."

The maester seemed pleased with the answer and, leaning in to touch Gendry's arm with his thin papery hand, he said, "I require your expertise, you see."

"Whatever you need, Maester Aemon."

"It's cold up here, is it not?"

"It is too cold for a southron like me, at least."

"I too come from the south, though that was too many years ago to count. Yet the air still has a bite on my skin. Even inside Shieldhall, with the fireplaces going, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"When your uncle lit his sword, tell me, did it look as swords do when you forge them?"

Gendry thought back to how Stannis' sword had glowed with an iridescent glimmer of mainly orange, but other colors as well, gold, red and yellow. The room had been lit by it, and there was a liquid dance to the hue. He tried to think back to his work at the forge, to the swords he had seen Tobho make, to the simple ones Gendry had mended and forged for the brotherhood, and then, to the best one he had ever created, the one he had given Arya before their wedding at Riverrun. Yes, there was an orange glow when you forged a new sword, but as he tried to remember to compare it, as Maester Aemon asked him, he couldn't stop feeling the hairs of his arms singe and the heat bite his skin. It was a long time since he truly felt that. He had been working a little here and there at the smithy at Castle Black, but it had been simple work, just horseshoes and nails to repair the damage from recent battles. There hadn't been a need for heat hot enough to forge steel. 

"I guess it was similar, but not quite."

"What would you say was different?"

"When you get the steel hot enough, it glows, red, and orange, and only when the flames get hot enough white-hot, but it doesn't have that… dancing property."

"Tell me, Ser Gendry, what was the last sword you forged?"

"My wife's. I made her a new blade before our wedding."

"What do you remember most of making it?"

"The heat," he replied without hesitation, "not just from the licks of the flames, but the heat coming from the blade itself."

"I didn't feel the heat from his grace's sword."

"No," Gendry replied, realizing what the old maester was implying. "It did not cast any heat. It was as if it was some sort of…"

"Glamor?"

"Yes."

"In your experience as a smith, did you ever encounter any flaming swords?" Maester Aemon asked then.

"Yes, Thoros of Myr used to light his swords on fire and bring them to my master's shop for mending. It surely was a nice trick, but it was only that, a trick. Tobho didn't like it either, but it brought us plenty of coins since fat King Robert liked it. Tobho said we could not look a gift horse in the mouth."

The maester laughed with amusement, and Gendry worried he had said something stupid.

"You are right. Only a trick. And that fat king Robert was your father, I am told."

Gendry groaned.

"I never met the man," he explained, "unless you count the time his wheelhouse almost ran me over."

"I am glad you survived your father, as a lot of sons do not."

Gendry nodded again and looked down at his cup, not realizing he had not said anything in quite some time. 

"Before I lost my sight, I used to read a lot," the maester spoke then. "Did you ever read about Lightbringer, Ser Gendry?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not too good with my letters. I can read enough to take armor orders and do sums. Arya taught me a bit more, and my cousin Shireen has taught me a great deal since I was legitimized, but I have never read a proper book."

"I didn't ask to make you feel bad, forgive me for that. What do you know of the sword your uncle claims to be Lightbringer?"

"Only that it belonged to Azor Ahai, and that it was hard to make or something?"

"You should ask your cousin Shireen about it, something tells me she'll know it well. You see, everyone speaks of Azor Ahai as a great warrior, not just here in the North, or the rest of Westeros. Every culture has its own name for it, all the way east to Yi Ti. And yet, no one pays enough attention to the fact that he forged his own sword. It's a story that a smith like you should hear."

Gendry stared at the man as he stood up, and he signaled for Sam to come and help him again and take him to his assigned seat.

"Thank you for your wisdom on the art of blacksmithing, Ser. I look forward to hearing more about it at another time," he said before walking away.

If it had been anyone else, Gendry would have considered the words to be mocking, but in Maester Aemon's soft voice, it sounded sincere. He couldn't remember anyone ever calling him wise or an expert on anything, and so, the warmth spreading in the middle of his chest was a foreign sensation.

* * *

As the food was served, Jon looked around the hall, and he found an equal number of disgruntled eyes among his brothers and the leaders of the free folk. They shared their food alike, distrustful of each other, but bonded in their wariness of the Lord Commander and the newly-arrived king. Jon tried to ignore it as he ate his food, keeping his attention instead on his sister and good brother, sitting across the table from him. 

The food was more varied from what remained in the stores at Castle Black. The king's men had brought in resources with them, mostly salted fish and meat and beans and grain. They had also sent for supplies from Mole's Town, and Jon was grateful for a small reprieve in his concerns about feeding the large numbers of men and women at Castle Black. He exhaled a bit relieved, thinking that their full bellies could earn him just a bit of time to deal with far more critical issues, and hopefully, lessen the murdering stares thrown his way. Taking one more look, there was only one among the free folk who did not look around with hatred, Sigorn of Thenn seemed too distracted, looking across the hall. Jon followed his line of sight, and he was surprised to find it led to Alys Karstark eating quietly on her own. He didn't have time to linger, but he made a mental note about it. 

Jon turned next to look at Arya, who ate in silence while sweeping the hall with her eyes. Her face was blank, and it made Jon long for her childish unbridled chatter, and her mischievous grin when she used to fling peas at their siblings. He then looked at Gendry, his good brother. It was still hard for him to blend his thoughts of his sister with the notion that she was a woman grown, wedded, and bedded. That thought made him wince, as it came to his mind, but there was no doubt their marriage was consummated. He had not caught them in any overt show of affection, but he could see the trust in his sister's eyes whenever she looked towards her husband, and Gendry, he had noticed, had the habit to stare at his sister whenever she wasn't looking. And right then, as they ate silently, Jon could see that his good brother had only one hand on the table, holding his fork. His left one was under it, and he had no doubt, without having to confirm it, that it was set on his sister's leg. 

His musings were then interrupted by the king standing up, as the chatter in the hall died down at once. 

"You all look at me and say _'your grace'_ without conviction," the king said without a preamble. "You shield yourselves in the notion that the Watch is beyond Westerosi politics or that your people declared themselves free and will not kneel to anyone."

Jon could see the king's words ruffled feathers, and everyone in the hall was attentive at what he was saying, hungry for the right words to turn once and for all this man that called himself king into their enemy.

"I came here because I received a call for help, but I was not the only one called. Tell me, men of the Watch, who came to aid you beside me?"

The black brothers turned to look at each other and then back at the king. 

"I came here to help you defend yourselves of your enemies, but I found you all today eating at the same table. At first, I thought I made a mistake, coming all the way here for nothing, while I could be taking my rightful throne back at King's Landing from false kings. But I came here because there is no point in being king of corpses. I believe it is my right and duty to be King of the Seven Kingdoms, but I would not be king if I didn't fight to protect my realm. I heeded your call for help, to protect the Wall from our enemies, what does it matter to me if the enemy has changed? The call for help still stands, and I have come here to help you protect the Wall."

There were whispers among the hall, but the king was not done talking.

"To the free folk," Stannis continued, and Jon noticed that it was the first time he had heard the king using their preferred term and not calling them _'wildlings,'_ "you crossed the Wall to protect your people, your king convinced you that this was the only way. Better to sleep with the enemy than sleep forever. You've seen what is coming, and I have, too, in the fires of the Lord of Light."

The king then took a moment to raise his cup and take a sip.

"To all of you, I will not ask for you to come to me and bend the knee _yet_. I will fight alongside you, but I ask you to look around. What other king is here to help you other than me?"

Jon stared at the free folk around the hall, and while they still held their scowling faces, the intensity on them seemed to have been reduced. 

"Behold King Stannis Baratheon," the red priestess then said, standing up. "You all know a long night full of terrors is coming, and he is Azor Ahai reborn, the prince that was promised that will defeat it and bring back the day. You've seen the days grow shorter, and you saw today the sword he wields. Remember that the only thing that defeats the never-ending night is the light, and R'hllor, the Lord of Light, has chosen him."

After that, all of those present went back to their food and drink, and the chatter grew again.

"Lord Commander," Stannis spoke then, leaning towards Jon.

"Yes, your grace?"

"After supper, I need a word in your solar."

Jon nodded, but before he could speak, his sister interrupted.

"We will be there."

The king ground his teeth and lifted one eyebrow, but said nothing.

"You are meant to speak with the Lord Commander about politics," Arya explained with a steady voice. "Remember our terms, the North shall be free, and until a legitimate Warden of the North is chosen, I speak for the North." 

* * *

There was no doubt in Arya's mind that Stannis had meant to speak to her brother alone, and he had only begrudgingly agreed to have her and Gendry be present. Though, when the king arrived at Jon's solar, followed by Melisandre, Arya hadn't been happy to see her there, but she wasn't surprised. 

"Your grace," Jon spoke. "You wanted to talk to me."

"You heard what I said earlier."

"An inspired speech, indeed, and I must say, I am grateful you have decided to help us protect the Wall from the wights and the Others."

Arya had to stop herself from groaning, but she understood what Jon was trying to accomplish with his words. 

"I meant what I said, Lord Commander. I cannot put the cart before the horse."

Arya saw Jon nod, and Gendry looked away, with one corner of his mouth curling. 

"And after?" Arya asked then.

Stannis turned towards her, smirking.

"After? I expect them to help me take what is mine."

"The Iron Throne?"

"Winterfell to start," he specified. "I have not forgotten our deal, _good niece_. And yes, after that, the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon intervened then, "The Night's Watch cannot intervene, it has always been neutral to the politics of Westeros."

"And the wildlings?" Stannis asked then, and the term he chose made Jon wince. 

"You expect the _free folk_ to march with you to take Winterfell back?"

"I've seen it in the flames," the king replied. 

Jon shook his head.

"You do not agree, Lord Commander?"

"You'll lose the Northern houses, and you need their support first."

"I could go south and take the Dreadfort first with the wildlings backing us, and we could see what the Boltons do when they lose their ancestral home. It ought to give us an edge."

"No, Roose Bolton is not stupid. It won't be that easy, and it may harm you and your forces more than help you."

"What do you suggest instead, Jon?" Arya asked. 

Jon took a moment to consider it all, and after a moment, he said, "The mountain clans. Go there first and get them behind you. You've taken the Moat already, and if you have the numbers and the support from the north as you do south of Winterfell, you can have them surrounded when it's time."

"Very well, then. We must march to the mountain clans," Stannis said, looking at Arya.

"No."

"What do you mean?!"

Arya did not blink, despite the king's uproar.

"I can't leave Castle Black."

"I thought you wanted Winterfell back."

"I do, and we will get it, but I cannot accompany you south," Arya replied, sharing a look with Gendry.

"I will not get their support on my own, it is _you_ they need to see to rally behind. Are they supposed to simply take my word that I have a Stark to place back on her rightful seat?"

"You will have your proof," Arya explained with a steady voice. "Go south, Nymeria will meet you there. She's all the proof you need."

"I'm supposed to believe that your _beast_ will obey me?"

"She won't," Arya replied with conviction. "But she will stand by you."

"How can you be so sure."

Arya turned to the red priestess.

"Ask your god to show you," she commanded the woman, and turning back to Stannis, she said, "Don't believe me, believe what your god will show you in the nightfires."

Jon shared a look with Arya, and she knew he was thinking of their previous talk beyond the Wall.

"Is this all you wanted to say, _uncle_?" Gendry asked. 

"No, there is something else. There is a proposition I need to make to the Lord Commander here, but it is not for your ears."

"Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of my sister," Jon stated, and looking towards Gendry, he added, "and I'm sure she'll say that the same goes for her husband."

"Very well, if this is how you want this to be. The wildlings need a leader."

"The _free folk_ have a leader."

"Mance Rayder? The turncloak who you sent south and you have not heard from since?"

"Mance is King-Beyond-the-Wall," Jon calmly explained.

"And yet his people are here without guidance," Melisandre added. "I see them fighting each other in the yard and grow restless."

Stannis spoke then, "They still have their lives thanks to you. You could lead them."

"I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the very order that has battled them for thousands of years."

"You lived with them, I am told," Stannis said.

"And then I betrayed them."

"They could see you as one of them again," the king proposed, "if you marry their princess."

"They have no princess."

"Val, I am told she is the good sister of Mance Rayder, and the rest show her respect."

Jon smirked then, "Power does not work the same way it does south of the Wall. The respect Val is shown is based on her skills as a warrior. Besides, I would have to steal her, and hope she doesn't kill me afterward."

"Something tells me you could accomplish the feat," the king insisted. "You cannot say that her relation to Mance has no weight."

"No," Jon conceded.

"Marry her and lead them all."

"I cannot. I am a man of the Night's Watch, I took vows."

"Words spoken in front of a tree mean nothing. I am king, and I have the power to make them go away."

"Not to you," Gendry intervened. "They meant something to me, and I am not a Northerner."

Stannis laughed sarcastically. 

"You will not entertain my proposal then? You cannot tell me you never thought about it. I can legitimize you as well. Tell me, Jon Snow, did you ever fantasize about being able to wear the true name of your father?"

Jon looked down, unable to stop old wounds and wishes being reawakened. 

"Gendry here knows about that. He has a name and the woman he coveted to take to bed each night, both things forbidden to him before. I made that happen, despite the little love he has for me."

Gendry groaned, but he couldn't deny Stannis' statement. 

"You could be Jon Stark."

Jon looked up at his sister.

"But I must warn you, before I legitimize you, you cannot come before Arya. I will not give you Winterfell and the North. I promised her that already. You can have the Dreadfort, or settle with your people up here, or at the Gift. I do not care."

"I asked for Winterfell and the North for the Starks and for the North to be free. I do not care which one of my siblings is Lord of Winterfell," Arya added.

"I'm sure you do not, _dear niece_ , but you cannot be so naive. If I'm to give up the North, I want one of my own sitting right there with you. You will get the North not because we made a deal, but because you are married to a Baratheon."

"Once more," Gendry spoke, "I'm nothing else but a pawn to you."

"Do not bite the hand that feeds you, _nephew_."

"Enough!" Jon yelled. "I cannot take your offer, as generous as it is, your grace."

All five of them remained silent for a while, until the king spoke, "You said before that wildlings will lose me the support of the Northerners, but wildlings are meant to live here now, south of the Wall among the same Northerners that have wanted them dead for thousands of years. You know this, Lord Commander. You are sitting on a tinderbox just waiting for a spark. Melisandre has seen it in the fires, Northerners fighting the Others alongside wildlings who are their kin. You must give them a reason to stop fighting each other, and instead, fight _alongside_ each other."

Jon thought about what the king was saying, and he thought back to Shieldhall and how he had caught Sigorn staring at Alys.

"I will take no wife," Jon said, "but I agree with your proposal of joining free folk to the North."

* * *

The wilding girl was just one of the many littering Castle Black, with her worn fur clothes a bit too big for her frame. The clothes were clearly passed down or mayhaps even taken from the dead, as the cold beyond the Wall is bitter, and nothing can go to waste. She carried her longbow and quiver at her back as she waited patiently, eying the black crows with distrust. Still, she sat on a log by one of the many fires, as she twirled one of her daggers in her left hand to pass the time, and to discourage any man who could suddenly decide to try to steal her. 

The stout crow she was waiting for came walking briskly, looking around and not hiding his distaste for the free folk in the yard. The wilding girl observed him out of the corner of her eye as he walked towards the rookery. Once the man disappeared into the building, she stood up and followed, stashing her knife away. 

She had prepared the night before, studying the building and the window from where the ravens were released. She had already found the right spot that gave her a vantage point without attracting suspicion. It didn't take long for the bird to come flying out, and she followed it with her eyes, her bow already in her hands, and the arrow nocked in place. She recited words in her head to hold her hand steady, and her eye keen, since she would only have one chance. She released her arrow in one slow fluid movement, and let her hand move back, seeing as her arrow hit the target cleanly, and the bird plummeted, making a dull thud as it hit the snow a few yards ahead. The girl looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was too busy with their own affairs. She waited until she saw the crow leave the building and look in the direction the raven had taken south. The man seemed pleased when he couldn't see the bird anymore, and he walked away with relaxed steps. 

Only after the crow was out of sight, she walked to the place where she knew the raven had fallen. It was a waste of a bird, but the message could not be allowed to reach its destiny, she thought as she untied the slip of parchment from its leg, and she stuffed it inside her clothing. She moved the snow with her boot and placed the raven there, and covered it up afterward. It would have been better if she could have buried it in the ground, but the soil was frozen, and she didn't have a spade with her. 

By the time she reached the cell, there was light enough out, but it was still early. She hoped he was still asleep, and she opened the door slowly. It was dark, with the fire almost consumed and the small window still covered with the cloth she had hung there before leaving, hoping it would keep him in bed long enough.

"Where were you?" he asked from the dark.

"Running a little errand for Jon, but you can go back to sleep," she said, hoping he'd listen, and she'd have time to divest herself from the girl's face.

It was too much to ask from the bullheaded man, and instead, she heard him jump off the bed and come to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the sudden light in the cell, as he had pulled the cloth from the window. She had kept her face towards the door, but she felt his hand on her shoulder, over the furs. 

"Turn around," Gendry asked her.

She did after taking a breath, and she let him see the face. 

"Why are you wearing this?" he asked after looking her up and down.

She bit her lower lip as she felt the pull, "I'm here to steal you."

Gendry's hand came to her face and ran his thumb along her jaw, and then moved it up to her cheek.

"I thought you had already done that."

"You seem to be confusing me with another. I've seen you around _kneeler_ , and I wanted to check if you were truly as big and strong as you look without your clothes on."

"And?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She took her time studying his nakedness.

"I was not wrong."

He laughed again and decided to play along.

"I'm sorry, m'lady, I'm sure you are a mighty warrior, but I belong to another."

"I'm not a lady."

"Neither is she," he replied, pulling her towards him, and having his hand find its way under the furs, happy to see that her body was still the same. 

"Take it off," he commanded. 

She removed the boots and the outer fur clothes, until she wore only her stays and smallclothes, and then said, "And here I thought you would stay true to your wife."

"I meant the _face_ , Arya."

She stilled her movements then. 

"Are you sure you wouldn't want something different?"

"No, only the face of my wife."

He saw her swallow noticeably, and stay still. Only then he took the time to observe her. It was still her, besides the different face. The same curves of her body, and the same hair, though it was braided as the free folk women did. 

Only the face was wrong. 

The girl was olive-skinned, comely, despite a couple of pox marks on her cheek. The nose was larger, with thicker lips and thinner eyebrows, and despite the difference in the shape of her eyes, the color was the same grey that had always haunted Gendry's dreams before they reunited. 

"Take it off, I mean it."

"I will," she finally replied, "but you must look away. I don't want you to see it." 

"You think I can't handle it?"

"I know you can. It is I who can't."

"I've already told you it doesn't change who you are to me."

"Still, would you turn around for me?"

He nodded softly and did as she said while she brought her fingers to the spot where her jaw met her ear, looking for the small flap. When she found it, she pulled, and the face pulled off as if it were a thin piece of parchment. Gendry felt her walk by him, and then he saw her as she knelt by their trunks and dug out the same satchel she had shown him back in the Riverlands. He stayed where he was, but Gendry noticed the thin papery thing in her hands, and he saw her put it away with reverence. 

"Who was she?" he asked, making her turn towards him, and he felt a fluttering in his chest to see the face he craved back in its place. 

"A girl who came to the House of Black and White looking for mercy. I did not kill her if you were wondering. Well, not in the way you would think. She was very ill, and she was tired. She asked me to help her drink from the pool. I stayed with her until she passed, and then, it was me who cleaned her body."

"Did you…" Gendry didn't know exactly how to ask, but he brought his index finger to the side of his face and brushed along the ridge of his jaw.

"No, not her. I was still an apprentice, but I saw one of the acolytes do it." 

She placed the satchel back in its place in the trunk, and then she stood up, walking towards the bed and sitting on the floor, against it. "But I've done it myself a few times with others."

Gendry came to sit next to her and said, "the rest of the faces there?"

"A couple. I'm not proud of it, but I stole the rest from the Hall of Faces."

"Should I ask what that is?" Gendry asked with a grimace. 

Arya scrunched up her face and replied, "Exactly what it sounds like. A library of faces, thousands."

They stayed like that in silence for a while, until Arya spoke, "Is there anything else you want to ask?"

"No," he said, bringing his hand to cradle her neck and jaw, and then he pulled her to his lips.

"This is the only face I care about," was the last thing he said before kissing his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to know what your thoughts are and if you found the little breadcrumbs I left in this one. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all your support.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord Commander must deal with treason, arrange a wedding, and hope a huge gamble pays off. Meanwhile, Arya and Gendry continue finding their place in the middle of the complex politics of the North and Castle Black and still stealing time to spend together in their tiny cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me longer than normal, but without much ado here it is.

[ ](https://imgur.com/I6MT8Oz)

Gendry watched from the smithy as his wife and good brother walked towards the woods south of Castle Black with Ghost faithfully by their side. He thought he ought to feel guilty for his slight jealousy about the time Arya spent with Jon. He shook his head at the sudden selfishness, as he went back to work on nails and hinges. Gendry had made her the solemn promise of getting her to her brother after failing so many years before, and he was genuinely pleased to see the way Arya's face lit up finally seeing her favorite brother. Still, he had gotten used to spending almost all his time with her. It had been a nearly seamless transition to the old dynamic from when they were still barely children trying to survive on the kingsroad. Their relationship was far from what it had been back then, but he missed the complicity they used to share during the day. 

While Gendry wanted to give the siblings time to make up for all they had lost in the past, it didn't mean that he didn't miss spending time with her.

_ 'Greedy, bastard,'  _ he thought to himself as he held on to the iron plate with tongs as he bent the plate with his hammer to shape the knuckles meant for the pins.

But at night, when she joined him bare under the furs in their narrow bed and Gendry had her all for himself, he felt the wealthiest bastard the whole of Westeros. 

"I missed you today," he said right after kissing her nape and before he trailed her spine down with his lips.

"You saw me this morning."

"Still," he replied, between dipping the tip of his tongue in her lower back's dimples. "Did you and your brother fix the broken world yet?"

Arya couldn't stop herself from shuddering. 

"There were things he needed to know, and we've been teaching each other what we know of warging."

"What is that?" he asked, moving back up so his chin could rest on her shoulder.

"My wolf dreams, Jon told me it's called  _ warging _ ."

"Just tell me you're not turning yourself into a wolf for good and leaving me behind."

"It's rich of you to think I wouldn't drag you to my lair by the collar."

Gendry tried to retaliate with a bite on the crook of her neck, but laughter loosened his jaw.

"I still can't warg Nymeria at will, but I can feel her more, and she feels me. She will be there to meet with Stannis."

"When is he leaving?" Gendry asked, and the heat of his breath tickled Arya's neck giving her gooseflesh.

"Later tomorrow," she replied with a sigh. "Jon wants him here while he deals with a traitor among his brothers." 

* * *

Jon was Ned Stark's son. 

That was the only truth he believed in, even after hearing from Arya about the man who sired him and the woman who carried him in her womb. Despite whatever magical blood ran in his veins, Jon had only known one father, and he had been the one to teach him about honor, just as he did with his trueborn children.

The nights since Arya had shared the secrets she learned from Howland Reed, Jon labored to fall asleep, thinking. And he would wake up each morning with the same haunting thoughts. All his life, he had wanted only to be like his father and find a place in that world where he could live, despite the great stain of his bastardy. Lady Catelyn had never seen honor in him, how could she? When he was the living proof of her husband's only dishonor. 

Jon had heard about it plenty, how baseness and shame were in the true nature of bastards. 

He had grown up knowing he would never bear the Stark name with pride, as named bastards had to take simple words as surnames: Snow, Waters, Pyke, Rivers, Storm, Sand, Stone, Flowers, Hill. Words from the nature of the place where they were born. Jon felt the bitter smile forming on his lips. Bastards named with words out of nature as if they had sprouted on their own, like wildflowers or weeds, and not a man sowing his seed on a woman he didn't care enough to marry. Jon had tried to wash the shame his birth brought by placing Ned's beloved honor above all and willingly taken the black because of it. Though he had learned the hard way that honor wasn't enough. Honor on its own didn't equal good, and it definitely did not mean the wellbeing of those you loved.

Beyond the Wall, he had learned a hard truth: that fighting for the greater good ofttimes required being marked by shame.

That morning he figured out, at last, the price he would have to pay, and despite his feelings on the matter, Jon took the wretched steps, he didn't want to take. He had gotten up at dawn and washed with the cold water from the basin, hoping it would reinforce his conviction.

He called Satin and told him to send a message to Val to meet him by the tunnel gate in an hour, and immediately after, he went to see Maester Aemon. Sam left them alone to go check on the wounded and to give them privacy. 

"I'm afraid that my time in this world is ending," the maester spoke once Sam was out of the room, taking Jon by surprise.

"Don't say that. We still have great need of you," Jon said, and after speaking, Jon had to swallow before adding, " _ I _ still have great need of you."

The sense of loss surprised him, and he wondered if it was because how important the maester had come to be in his life, or suddenly realizing that he was about to lose the only family he knew from his birth father's side.

"I will regret not being around to ease your path,  _ my boy, _ but it is true. As it is, you cannot deal with a blind maester."

"Sam has been good helping you."

"Yes, he has indeed. But Sam is meant to do greater things, not just lend me his eyes."

Despite what his heart preferred, Jon knew it was right and what needed to be done.

"That is part of the reason why I wanted to talk to you."

"He must be ready to take over as maester here at Castle Black," Maester Aemon stated, making Jon feel like he could read his mind. "He needs to forge his chain, is that what you had in mind, Jon?"

Jon felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease, and he nodded.

"Yes, I thought I should send him to Oldtown, to the Citadel."

"A wise choice."

Jon hoped that he thought the same of what he had to say next, "I want you to go with him."

"You are afraid."

There was no question in the old blind maester's tone.

"The king's priestess. She wants to sacrifice anyone with king's blood."

"This is why you want to send me away."

"And Mance's child." 

Aemon exhaled loudly. His head lifted, and his eyes seemed to look for something worlds and years long gone.

"What is king's blood, after all?"

Jon knew what the maester meant, but still, he replied in the literal sense, "The blood in your veins. You come from kings, even more, you  _ could _ have been one."

"Because my ancestors came from Valyria riding dragons and conquered this land?"

"To start."

"Then, there is blood in you too, Jon."

Jon felt his knees falter, and for a moment, it looked as if the Maester Aemon could see him through the white veil of his eyes.

"Me?"

The maester opened and closed his lips a few times, his mouth as dry as a dying dragon's.

"Your brother was king, just as was mine."

The young Lord Commander let out his worry with his exhale.

"Robb was not meant to be king."

"And yet he was. Was his blood king's blood all along? Or it became magical when his bannermen proclaimed him King in the North?"

Jon tried to think, but no answers came to him.

"Before Aegon the Conqueror came to Torrhen Stark, your ancestors were the kings of winter. When Aegon left him no choice but to bend the knee, did his blood become common?"

"I don't know," Jon replied. "I come to  _ you _ for counsel."

Aemon laughed with that quiet voice of his, and Jon felt it was about something long past.

"My nephew Rhaegar said exactly the same thing to me once by raven as we discussed something similar. He was consumed trying to figure out the magic of prophecies. Don't make his same mistakes, Jon."

Jon willed his thoughts to turn to ice and not to the burning image of his dead sire.

"Will you go with Sam?"

"I will do as you ask of me,  _ Lord Commander. _ "

* * *

By the time he reached the tunnel gate, Val was already there, still with those inscrutable eyes of hers set on him. 

"What do you want of me,  _ crow _ ?" she asked without preamble.

Val never had time to go around in circles, but Jon could play the same game.

"Tormund."

The woman laughed with sarcasm, and Jon knew she had done it loudly on purpose, to make a few heads turn towards them.

"Do you want to sprout wings as well? Because that is more likely to happen."

"I'm serious," he replied without blinking. "You know Tormund and his people need to come to this side of the Wall before it's too late."

Val eyed him carefully for a few moments before speaking.

"If he comes, it will be to settle the score with you for betraying the free folk."

"Fine with me," Jon replied. "Tell him he can beat the crow out of me while he's  _ still alive _ , but there will be no justice if he's dead."

"What will convince him that you are truthful now, and you won't cross him again?"

"What convinced  _ you _ ?" he replied, and the woman's eyes suddenly widening was the only reaction visible.

" _ Not you _ ," she said icily, "that's for certain."

"Mance," Jon guessed right.

"And he's not around  _ because of you. _ "

Jon took a deep breath and then spoke, "Ghost will go with you."

They stared at each other for a while until Val spoke, "You are sure of this?"

"I will do whatever it takes to save as many as I can."

She looked down and kicked the snow with her white-furred boot.

"Fine,  _ crow _ ," she finally said, looking up. "Have it your way."

"When can you leave?"

"As soon as you call your direwolf."

Jon didn't even need to turn before Ghost trotted to stand next to the woman.

_ 'The gods forgive me,'  _ Jon thought as he walked away, unaware of the hidden eyes trained on him.

* * *

That night, Jon called for a smaller supper at his solar. Arya had seen Stannis arrive with a smug smile on his face, more sure of himself than she had seen the king in a long time. Lady Melisandre followed him around as usual, but Gendry and Arya were surprised to see not only the queen but also Shireen. There was only one new face among the group, a gaunt-looking girl, with a pale face and brown hair that Arya had seen around in Castle Black but to whom she had not been properly introduced. Something made her seem familiar to her, but she couldn't remember having met her. 

"We haven't met," the girl said to Arya. "My name is Alys Karstark. I believe we are distant kin."

"I'm Arya, and this is Gendry, my husband."

The smile on Alys' face was small, but it made her look less sad for a second.

"Well, Lord Commander," Stannis said, interrupting them and signaling for everyone to sit down. "I am sure you had us all come for a reason, and while I suspect it, I am eager to hear what it is."

Jon nodded, inviting those who had not sat yet to do it, and with barely a look, Satin had left the solar to get the food brought in.

"You said something to me at Shieldhall," he addressed the impatient king. "Something about the need to kin Northerners to the free folk. I must say that I agree that they will forever continue warring no matter what side of the Wall they are, even when there is a bigger war to wage."

"Where is Princess Val?" Melisandre inquired.

"She went beyond the Wall," Jon replied, but he offered nothing else.

"With Ghost," Arya added, not really sure how she knew that in her heart.

Jon turned to stare her, sharing the same thought to which no one else at the table was privy.

"She's gone to convince Tormund to come to Castle Black, along with his people."

"Another wildling chieftain," Stannis added.

"Another  _ leader _ of the  _ free folk _ ," Jon clarified.

"Don't you have enough mouths to feed as it is, Lord Commander?" Selyse asked.

Jon seemed surprised to have the queen question him.

"Pardon me, your grace, but I will try to save as many as I can from the Others."

He then turned to see the king and his red priestess, "You've claimed to see them in your god's fires, you know death is coming."

"What does Val have to do with uniting the North and the free folk?" Arya asked, turning the conversation back to what Stannis had mentioned since it had not sat well in her chest when it was brought up.

"There shall be a wedding," Stannis answered with a conceited smile. 

All eyes turned to the Lord Commander, who cleared his throat aloud and then said, "Yes, I wanted to ask for the king and queen's blessing."

Gendry had narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"I've already made my offer," Stannis said to Jon. "You know you will have no objections from me if you have decided to marry the wildling princess."

Arya spun around to look at Jon, "You?"

"Will you renounce your vows?" Gendry asked.

"No, I cannot marry, I've said enough to you about it, your grace," Jon addressed the king, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the question on his sister's face. "I took vows for life, and while your offer of legitimation was generous, my commitment is to the Night's Watch and to defend with my life the realms of men. I will not betray those vows."

Gendry was able to see how Arya's jaw tensed, undoubtedly thinking that Jon's justification was not only directed to his uncle. Meanwhile, the king threw the silver fork he had been clutching to the center of the table, and it landed noisily on the old wood.

The tension in the solar was palpable, but at least Satin came in, accompanied by the black brother they called Three-Finger Hobb, and they served the simple meal to all of those around. Shireen, in particular, seemed uncomfortable with the tension in the room. 

Once the black brothers left, Stannis finally spoke, "How do you plan to kin the North to the wildlings, then, Lord Commander?"

The thin, pale woman who had remained quiet throughout the tense conversation chose to speak with a loud, steady voice, "Through me."

"I have approached Lady Alys, here," Jon explained then, "who is sister to the heir of Karhold, to wed Sigorn of Thenn, recently appointed magnar of House Thenn, after the death of his father, Styr."

"What the  _ fuck _ is a  _ magnar _ ?" the king asked.

"In the Old Tongue," Shireen replied, surprising everyone around, "it is equivalent to what we consider a  _ lord _ , in the Seven Kingdoms. Maester Aemon allowed me to borrow his books as long as I read to him for a bit each day. He has taught me a lot about the First Men and the customs beyond the Wall."

Gendry smiled to his cousin, which pleased her, and Arya would have as well if she hadn't gotten caught up with something else Jon had said.

" _ You _ set up a political marriage for a woman who came here looking for help as she fled another marriage forced upon her?" Arya asked, her eyes rolling skyward.

"There is no way around it, both sides have to be kin," Jon tried to explain.

Arya shook her head, and pulling her hand away from Gendry's trying to appease her, she said to her brother, "I wouldn't have expected it from you."

Jon's forehead puckered, " _ You _ married for a political alliance."

"It was different," she replied, narrowing her eyes.

Arya swallowed something bitter, but it was nothing compared to how Jon's next words reminded her of so many past blows to her gut.

"Was it?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but the woman in question interrupted her before saying words to her brother that she would have regretted later.

"I agreed to it, Arya. Your brother did not imply I was forced to accept, not like my uncle did."

"You approve of this man you are going to bind yourself to for life?" Arya questioned her.

"I do not know him enough, that's true, but in my time here I've come to see there is honor among the free folk, even if it doesn't match exactly our own views on it. They have laws and Sigorn's father, even if his own people consider him close to a god, was humble enough to follow Mance, and die, for the good of his people. That is far better than my own kin who wished my brother's death and to use me and then discard me."

"Does that  _ suit you _ , Arya?" Jon inquired, and it was not lost on his sister the tone he used. 

"As long as a woman has a say on her own marriage."

Only after that, Gendry held her hand over the table again, and she didn't move it away.

"I believe you hold the man Lady Alys was meant to marry here at Castle Black."

"He is in the ice cells," Jon replied.

"Is he the one who howls at night?" the queen asked while she buttered a piece of bread as if she was inquiring about a dog and not a man.

"He will be moved in the morning, your grace, as the temperatures are getting lower and he has become… harder to manage where he is. I intend to take him to the undervault of this very building."

_ 'Where Jon and I can keep an eye on him,'  _ Arya thought.

"That is such a grim topic for the supper table," the queen criticized. "Better to plan the wedding."

"They shall be married by the faith of the Lord of Light. The first marriage to herald what it is to come," Lady Melisandre proclaimed, but more than a couple of those present took her words more as a threat than a good omen.

* * *

Just as Jon had explained it the night before, early that morning, the only prisoner in the ice cells was moved to the Lord Commander's Tower. As he was hauled out, the man yelled, kicked and growled like an animal, but his long confinement had made him weaker and older than his years. It seemed as if everyone had been commanded to come and watch the spectacle, as free folks and king's men alike witnessed the scene morbidly. 

"You call yourself a man of the Night's Watch, Jon Snow! But you imprisoned me unjustly and took my bride."

"I'm not your bride now, cousin. And I wasn't it before. To you, I was just something else you meant to take and use to rob my home from my brother and me. How long until you buried me like your two previous wives?" Alys Karstark said to the man she had narrowly escaped from.

"The Night's Watch has no right to meddle in our family's affairs," Cregan Karstark barked, and then he turned towards Jon. "Didn't you take vows about that,  _ Snow _ ? Tell me, did you break them  _ all _ ? Have you taken  _ this bitch _ to your bed?"

"Shut mouth!" A lean man wearing a leather shirt adorned with bronze scales yelled in broken common tongue. "You speak ill of my woman again, and I cut tongue out."

"What is this savage talking about?!" Cregan yelled at Alys.

"We are to be wed."

"You will die,  _ Snow _ !" he howled, turning towards Jon.

"Take him away!" Jon commanded, done with the man, and with the fodder, his words were for his detractors.

He didn't have to wait long, Bowen Marsh, Alliser Thorne, and Janos Slynt had been whispering among themselves during the whole scene.

As he turned to walk towards his new prison, Janos spoke, loud enough for him to hear, "Not satisfied with bedding wildlings, he beds highborn girls as well, and then he passes them on as leftovers to his wildling friends."

Jon wasn't a fool. 

He may have known nothing, as Ygritte still whispered in his ears in the cold lonely nights right before he fell into sleep, but he was no fool. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, chasing the memory of the cave he should have never left, with her, panting his full name on his ear, her accent making it sound as it was worth far more than a bastard's name. 

Jon turned around and stared at the stout man, and after a moment, he yelled, "Janos! You will be going to Greyguard tonight."

"The fuck I will!"

Jon had been counting on that reply, after all, this was the third refusal from the man. He had tried to send Janos Slynt away from Ser Alliser, to stop the spread of the bad seed among the Night's Watch. The last time Jon had commanded him, they had rowed in his solar, and Arya had been privy to it. And before that, he had come to the king, thinking he could curry some favor, but Stannis knew the man and was well aware of the corruption that had plagued the City Watch at King's Landing while he had been commander. 

The last drop had been the parchment that was intercepted by Arya from Slynt to Grand Maester Pycelle.

"You are right, Janos. You are not going to Greyguard. You have questioned and disobeyed me as if I was not your Lord Commander."

"You are not my Lord Commander, and you will not give me orders,  _ bastard _ ."

"I  _ am _ your Lord Commander, and you will address me like it."

"I will not recognize you, you are a bastard, a turncloak and wildling lover. You want me at Greyguard to die so you can continue currying favor with Lord Stannis."

"King Stannis," Melisandre corrected him.

"Not my king! My king sits at his throne in King's Landing. You are as false as the god of your red witch."

"Careful," Melisandre spoke as she walked towards the man, swaying her hips. "Those who are foolish to doubt the power of R'hllor live just long enough to regret the consequences."

"You are nothing but a whore, and we have all seen how you go into the  _ Lord Commander's _ solar. Tell me, what have you and your king promised him in exchange to give you the Watch and the wildlings?"

"Enough!" Jon yelled. 

"I was lord of Harrenhal, and you are nothing but a  _ turncloak bastard _ . I will speak my truth, the one you want to bury by sending away your dissenters. Who's next? Ser Alliser? Bowen? What will you do to me now to make me an example? Hang me from the Wall,  _ Lord Snow _ ?"

"No," Jon said, looking down, and Janos Slynt took it as defeat, so he huffed and turned around smirking.

"That's what I thought so. You're nothing but a green boy not fit to be Lord Commander."

"Satin," Jon called.

"Yes, Lord Commander."

"You will ask your  _ boy whore t _ o accompany me to the same cell where you sent Cregan Karstark? I'm sorry,  _ Lord Snow _ , I do not share your  _ proclivities." _

"Satin, bring me my sword. Edd, fetch me a chopping block."

Everyone present gasped.

"Is he going to do it himself?" Gendry asked his wife.

"It was Father's code."

The crowd watched as Edd brought a chopping block, and only the loud thud of the block hitting the ground broke through the silence. Two men of the Night's Watch held on to Janos Slynt as Satin handed Longclaw to Jon.

"Janos Slynt, I sentence you to death for insubordination, dissidence, and treason of the Night's Watch."

"You have no proof," the man replied, trying to get himself loose.

"I have enough proof here, in this parchment attached to the raven you attempted to send to King's Landing," Jon explained, pulling the folded paper from inside his leather doublet. 

Janos stopped struggling, hearing Jon's words. 

"In it, you say that you will continue sending information on Stannis Baratheon and his plans. You promise to cause Stannis men and the free folk to fight each other, and in exchange for a full pardon, you will make sure both the king and I die. Not pleased with that, you swear that a puppet Lord Commander who will obey the Lannisters shall be chosen."

The chatter among the black brothers grew.

"This man plotted to kill King Stannis!" Melisandre shouted. "He must die by the flames!"

"No!" Jon replied, "he may be a traitor, but he is still a man of the Night's Watch, and he will receive the justice of the Night's Watch. Make him kneel."

As the black brothers forced him to his knees, Janos continued struggling, and as his head was lowered to the block, he taunted Jon, "You don't have the nerve."

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," the Lord Commander said, raising his blade.

After Long claw came down in one sure blow, only the sound of the head falling to the ground and bouncing was heard in the training yard. 

* * *

Stannis left with his men after the execution, and except for the queen, everyone was surprised knowing his red priestess stayed behind. The king gave one last look to Melisandre from atop his horse and ground his teeth, but he said nothing. 

"You will not accompany Father, Lady Melisandre?" Shireen asked.

"No, my princess. R'hllor showed me I must stay here with you and your mother."

"I'm sure the king was not pleased about that," Gendry replied mockingly. 

"He may not have been, but his grace is true to the one true God," Queen Selyse replied. "We all must do as he dictates, it is not for us to question his designs."

Once the king and the small troop he took with him were out of sight, they all started going their own ways, but Melisandre addressed Jon and Arya, "There is something I must inform you. If we could go to your solar,  _ Jon Snow _ ."

Jon looked at his sister and good brother, and after turning back to the red woman, he simply nodded. All four of them walked to the Lord Commander's solar in silence. 

Once inside, Melisandre made sure to close the door, and with a movement of her hand, all candles in the room lit at once. 

"Well, we're here. What do you have to tell us?" Arya questioned the woman bluntly.

"Want to know what the nightfires have told me,  _ Jon Snow _ ?" She responded, ignoring Arya, and walking behind the chair where Jon was sitting. She placed her hands on his shoulders, making not just Jon feel uncomfortable.

Jon turned to look at the woman and felt fear. He knew it silly since he had fought the Others beyond the Wall, but he felt fear nonetheless because he knew how much words could change life in the blink of an eye. One moment he was something he believed his whole life, and suddenly, nothing at all. 

His sister didn't seem to fear what the red woman had to say though, she just knitted her eyebrows, and her face spoke of nothing but fury.

"What is it this time, Lady Melisandre, what does that god of yours demand now in payment?"

"He doesn't ask for anything,  _ child _ ," she replied, looking at her. "He only shows me images, it is for us to interpret them."

"For  _ us _ ?" Arya asked with sarcasm.

"Who cares who interprets it?" Gendry added, with arms crossed over his chest. "I doubt anyone in this room will get it right."

"A girl," Melisandre spoke, walking towards the hearth, ignoring the three people's skepticism in the room. "A  _ grey _ girl, galloping to us on a dying horse."

"Who is this girl?" Gendry asked.

"I don't know, she's thin, hurt and in pain, fleeing a forced marriage."

Jon huffed and said, "Your god shows you the past, Lady Melisandre. Alys Karstark arrived much in the fashion you describe. And as you know, she has not only escaped that marriage, but she has chosen one out of her own will."

"No, this is not the past, but the present," the priestess replied, and Arya could see she smiled, looking at the fire. "The Lord of Light does show me what has already passed at times, but this grey girl is on her way as we speak. And it is not Alys Karstark, but a girl you grew up with."

Arya and Jon turned to look at each other.

"Sansa?" Arya dared ask. "She was forced to marry the Imp."

"But that was years ago," Gendry pointed out.

"Why now?" Jon questioned. "Why flee her forced marriage when she already escaped?"

"We don't know who has her," Arya added. "I do not know where she is, but I know she is imprisoned."

" _ In a black cage, perched at the mouth of the sky _ ," Gendry recited, making Jon turn towards him, and noticing the look on his good brother's face, he said, "It is what the Ghost of High Heart told us."

"Could the fake Arya be Sansa?" Jon wondered.

"Why would they pretend it was me if they had Sansa? They could have just married her as herself."

"Mayhaps it is that she was already married, and so publicly," Jon theorized.

"The marriage could have been contested, while  _ you _ were free to marry," Gendry offered.

"But the mouth of the sky?" Arya wondered, thinking back to the prophecy. "Why would Winterfell be referred to as the mouth of the sky? It makes no sense."

"No, she could not be that she is held by the Boltons, but she could be coming from somewhere else, and a new marriage could have been forced on her for someone else's benefit," Jon spoke, rubbing his short beard. "Who could have schemed it? The Tyrells?"

Arya shook her head. 

"The Tyrells have enough on their plate right now," she said, and then took a moment while she thought. " _ Petyr Baelish, _ he could have Sansa. She could be coming from the Vale, which makes more sense as the mouth of the sky."

"It doesn't matter where she's coming from. If Sansa is coming, we must help her," Jon said. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies…"

"…but the pack survives," his sister completed his sentence.

* * *

Before dawn the following day, Jon, Satin, and Edd were busy hitching the cart to the horses, working fast, and in silence. Lifting his face, Jon saw Sam coming towards them, helping Maester Aemon walk. Gilly followed them, close behind, with a big bundle tied to her chest. 

Once they were close enough, both men only nodded to each other, and while Edd and Satin helped take the old maester to the back of the cart, Jon walked to help Gilly with the bag she carried. She let Jon take the cloth sack, but Jon could see the fear and fury in her eyes.

"It's for a good cause. I know you disagree."

The woman shook her head.

"You've seen the red witch, you know what she would do to the babe, you told Sam you didn't trust her."

Gilly wrapped her arms around her precious cargo.

"Val will kill me."

"That is why I sent her away."

"Then, she'll kill  _ you. _ Good."

Jon huffed and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

"If he stays, the red woman will burn him alive. I know you know this. You will be keeping him safe, taking him away, and feeding him. She'll thank you when you come back with a strong boy."

"And Mance?"

"He will understand, as well."

"You better be sure, Jon," she said, and a quiet cry coming from under the long cloth wrapped around her torso made her pull it to see the source. 

Jon saw then the two babes, as Gilly soothed them.

"Soon, my loves. Once we're on the road, I will feed you, greedy boys."

Jon smiled and wondered, as he helped Gilly climb the cart, to join Maester Aemon on the bed of furs they had prepared for them if his father felt the same as he left the ruins of the Tower of Joy with himself in his arms. 

He then turned to see Sam, getting ready to climb at the front of the cart, and taking advantage of Satin and Edd loading the resources, he went to stand by Sam. 

"You'll be safe, won't you?" Sam asked, looking at his friend, and Jon had to smile at his best friend's concern. 

Sam was the one who was leaving towards the opposite end of the continent, with an ailing blind man, a woman, and two newborn babes, but still, his worry was for Jon's wellbeing.

"I will. Don't you worry, Sam. It is you who is going on an adventure."

Sam held on to Jon hard and said against his shoulder, "I will miss you. You have been my best friend, and I only survived here because of you."

"This is not the last time we see each other, Sam. You will come back to us with your forged chain. We have great need of you."

"I will."

"Do you know what you will do with Gilly and the babes?"

"I will send her to Horn Hill, I'm sure my mother will take care of them. I'll tell her the babes are my bastards. Father is away on campaign, so it will be easy for her to find a safe place to stay."

"You are a good man, Sam," Jon said, hugging his friend once more.

Sam felt the wave of guilt and pulling away from Jon, he knew he had to break a promise. 

"There is something I must tell you before we leave if we are not to see each other again."

"I've already told you we will."

"Still. You will hate me for it, but you must understand, I was made to swear not to tell you, three times," Sam explained, looking down.

"What is it?"

"Your brother, Bran. I met with him and his companions, beyond the Wall."

"Bran is alive, for sure?"

Sam simply nodded.

"Arya said a woods witch told her as much, now we have more proof. Thank you for that."

Both friends smiled one last time, and Jon said, "You must go now, before the red priestess and the queen's men see it."

He saw his friend climb at the front, and then Jon went to the back and jumped on it to say his goodbyes to the maester.

"Maester Aemon."

"Jon, I fear we will not meet again."

Jon shook his head. 

"You must survive, you must come back and counsel me. How am I to lead without your advice?" Jon asked, holding on to his thin, wrinkled hand.

" _ Kill the boy, Jon, and let the man be born _ ."

* * *

That evening, the wedding between Alys and Sigorn was held in the Lord of Light's faith, just as Melisandre had predicted. Gendry saw the bride and groom jump over a flaming ditch with skepticism, but despite what his feelings were towards the red priestess, he could see in the faces of Alys and Sigorn the same hope and fears he felt as he knelt by a heart tree at Riverrun. 

He and Arya were sitting by the fire looking at the newlyweds dance. She was leaning into his chest, and she was laughing. And the sound of it made Gendry's chest feel far broader than it was.

"Who would have thought Sigorn of Thenn being the dancing type? Well, at least after getting drunk enough," Arya pointed out once the laughter died.

"What exactly is  _ the dancing type _ ?" Gendry asked, looking down lovingly to her head against his chest.

"Well, not you, for starters."

"I danced at our wedding!"

"You were stiff and uncomfortable at our wedding."

"As were you."

Arya shrugged and then replied, "I never said I wasn't."

Looking back to the bride and groom, Gendry felt a tug in his chest. For a second, he was back at the main hall of Riverrun, while Tom sang their song. He wanted to kick himself for not having taken more stock of the moment, for not having identified both their discomfort for burgeoning feelings.

"Have I really danced only once with my wife? Is that possible?"

"You have. Unless there's another wife I've never heard about," Arya replied, raising her head from his chest.

Gendry stood up and extended his hand to hers.

"Are you being stupid?"

"I think I want to dance with my wife now that I'm not panicking about getting myself into a trap and potentially losing the only family I've ever had."

"Was I the trap?"

"No, you were  _ my family. _ All along, even when I was too stupid to figure it out."

She took his hand, walked to the yard where other couples danced, and started swaying close to each other. Looking at each other, they could hear cheers from what was left of the brotherhood, but somehow, it didn't bother them as much as it did before.

It was so different from their dance back at the Riverlands. There were no stiff steps that had to be followed, and instead, Northerners and free folk seemed to be moving to please themselves. Arya saw her brother stare at her, and for a moment she wanted to signal for him to join them, but then Gendry had held on tighter to her, and Jon had given her a knowing look. For the first time, Jon's nod made her wonder how the thing growing in between Gendry and her looked from the outside. She was still fearful of giving it a name but seeing it reflected in her brother's eyes finally made it real.

Jon looked down, still with a smile on his face, but it was then that a black brother came to him and whispered something in his ear.

Arya would have paid attention and wondered what his black brother was telling him, as his eyebrows suddenly knitted, and gone was the smile from his face, but precisely at that time, Gendry twirled them around and whispered in her ear.

"Arya, I..."

She wondered what he had meant to say, instead of sighing in her ear, making her tremble and feeling molten inside.

She pulled apart for a second to see a question in his eyes, and smiling slowly, she simply nodded. 

Gendry had pulled her off him, to be able to look into her eyes and understand if she was really saying the thing he wished she was.

"Do you mean…?"

She once more pulled herself to his ear. She could trick herself into believing it was a predatory move. Still, the truth was that she needed off the depth of his eyes to whisper in his ear that she had been tallying the passing of time since she started drinking the magic concoction that would allow them to join without consequences.

"I am yours, and you are mine," she said instead of all the things she could have said.

"Arya..." He said once more, but she knew him enough to tell that his tone was different, and far more questions had been asked with the same two syllables.

"It's safe now, and I want you if you want me."

"I've never stopped."

"Then, we could go to that tiny cell that is ours and figure out a way to go on that narrow straw mattress."

Gendry shook his head, and she worried for just a moment.

"I'll have you on the floor if it needs to be, but I'll have you tonight as long as you want me.  _ More than once, if I'm lucky enough _ ," Gendry whispered with a smug smile against her temple.

"We could set up our traveling mat on the floor and cover it with furs."

He didn't have a chance to say anything else, for she took his hand and led him out the yard and towards the Lord Commander's tower. When they walked by their old friends from the brotherhood, they cheered, and Lem even japed, making lewd comments, but neither of them had the head to pay attention to them. 

Just one fleeting moment, as they went up the stairs to their cell, Gendry worried about his good brother listening to him taking his wife for only the second time in their marriage. But he didn't think the first time had counted at all, and after that moment, he ceased to care. Jon knew he loved Arya proper and that he'd never do anything to hurt her. There would be time to apologize to him if they got too loud, and he'd even be happy to let Jon punch him directly on the face if needed. After that, Gendry would reiterate that what was between his sister and him was not just lust and promises made in sacred godswoods no one else believed in below the Neck. He'd tell him the truth, and he'd climb up to the Wall to yell it, loud enough for even the Others to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we doing?


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time Arya and Gendry had joined as man and wife was on the night of another wedding, the one that had joined their houses and threatened to ruin their friendship. This time, after the wedding of a Northern highborn lady and a magnar from beyond the Wall, they finally knew that their marriage was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hard week, and this took more from me than what I expected. I have been editing it all through the day, and I need to get it out. I apologize in advance if there are a few errors, I will continue fixing them all through the weekend.

[ ](https://imgur.com/Zw1JCdU)

Nervous energy sparked through Arya and Gendry's entwined fingers and radiated everywhere as they walked, eager to join without barriers. As soon as they got to the dark cell, they took their cloaks and boots off, and they busied themselves, unrolling their traveling mat in front of the fireplace, setting their blankets and furs on top. Once Arya was finished making a downy bed for them, she turned to see Gendry, squatting as he poked the logs in the fire to warm the room. 

When Gendry was pleased with his work and the room was lit by the renewed fires, he turned to face his wife. Smiles started to bloom on both of their faces, as Arya stretched out her hand, and Gendry came to take it. They kissed torturously slow, barely brushing their lips together.

"Are you certain it is safe now?" Gendry asked, breaking the kiss long enough to get the words out.

Arya nodded, capturing his lips again as she tugged at the hem of his shirt to free it from inside his breeches and tried to rid him of it, lifting her arms as high as they went, but it wasn't enough, so he helped her, yanking at the back of his collar. 

Once free, Arya drew him to her, to feel the ever heat of his chest against her. Bringing her lips to his ear, she whispered, "I've been counting the days."

He guided her face to him, with his large hand on the back of her nape.

"I've been wanting this for so long," he mouthed against her mouth, " _wanting you_."

Gendry felt her smile against him, and parting from her enough for him to see the spark in her eyes, Arya spoke, "Then, stop wasting time talking and just take me."

Her tone dared his hand to go to her thighs and pull her up, making her wrap them around him so he could lower them both on to the furs. By then, there was less kissing and more clumsy nibbling as he struggled to open her shirt. Gendry gave up trying to take it off, and instead, he pulled at the laces of her undergarments with haste.

"I never thought I'd miss those damn strips of cloth that you used to wrap around your teats," he complained.

Arya giggled at his groaning.

"It's just those burly blacksmith fingers of yours," she said, playing along.

"Go on, mock me, and I'll keep my _stupid_ fingers to myself," Gendry threatened, sitting back on his legs.

Arya sat up at once, her shirt open, and her stays loose enough for her breasts to threaten to spill out, yet she took his hands in hers. 

"No, you won't," she proclaimed, bringing them to her lips. "These big blacksmith hands are all _mine_."

Gendry shook his head and inhaled deeply, furious at the way her reaction made his throat tighten.

"You don't agree?" Arya asked, straddling him better, and circling his neck with her arms. 

"It's not that."

"What is it then?"

"It's not _just_ my hands," he explained. "It's all, I've always been _yours_."

Arya went hard on his mouth, unable to do anything else with the way his words ached so sweetly in her chest. 

They kissed like that for a long time, alternating taking the lead. Arya had forgotten all about the state of her clothes until Gendry peeled one side of her stays down, freeing one breast, and replacing the supporting garment with his hand. Arya sighed into his mouth, and she shamelessly pushed her chest further into his palm. She let go of Gendry's neck and blindly finished undoing her shirt and unlacing herself. Gendry took advantage of her labor, bringing his left hand to her other teat. As he let go of her waist, Arya had to hold on tighter with her strong legs and bring her hands to his shoulders. Her husband was nibbling at her neck, as he continued alternating between squeezing her breasts and teasing her nipples. Arya arched her back to offer more of herself to him, and Gendry continued kissing down until he captured a puckered nipple with his lips. Gendry's mouth was demanding, and nipping on a sensitive teat, he pushed her forward, making Arya start falling back. Gendry had to let go and hold on to the small of her back to support her. He then got on his knees and moved them both until he could slowly set her on the furs. 

He placed his palms on the bedding on each side of her face and lowered his mouth to her chest to continue his task, enjoying the way he made her teats react. There was no finesse, just the freedom to love his wife in the way he had always meant. He wanted them both naked and laughing, and making messy love on the floor of their cell.

Arya was busily unlacing his breeches and laughing at his torment of her chest.

"If you're planning on taking me twice tonight, you'll have to stop wasting time and get us both naked faster," she said defiantly.

Gendry growled and let go of her teat, to pull her breeches off along with her smallclothes in one fell swoop.

" _More than once_ , I said," he explained, standing up to rid himself of his breeches, and coming back to cover her with his body, nothing in between them at last. 

Gendry supported himself on his forearms, his chest resting on hers, but he made sure his weight was not on her. He caressed her nose with his, and his eyes stayed on her as he added, "It's not the same as twice."

Raising one eyebrow, she said, "So, you intend to take me more than twice tonight?"

"Do you have anywhere to go?" he asked with a smirk.

"No."

"Then we have long to make up for lost time."

Arya giggled, wrapping herself around him with arms and legs, and one of her hands played with his messy hair.

After they laughed and kissed slowly a bit more, Gendry was able to feel her inviting warmth, so close in that position. The way Arya caressed his backside with her foot helped his length rub against her entrance. Gendry groaned, setting his forehead on her neck. 

"Last time I hurt you," he mumbled against her clavicle.

" _Last time_ was long ago," she laughed at his sudden seriousness but continued to play with the fine hair at his nape.

"Still," he said, lifting his head, and giving her a quick peck on the lips. "You should take the lead."

Gendry didn't give her time to respond, and instead, he lifted himself to his knees and moved back, so he could sit on their furs against the narrow bed, and extending his hand he signaled for Arya to come to him. 

Arya lifted her head, annoyed at being left on her back, heated and ready, with legs parted. Still, the openness in Gendry's eyes as he asked for her to join him, convinced her to get herself on hands and knees and climb back on his lap. Gendry felt her wet and warm against his cock, and as Arya adjusted herself against him, the intimate contact made them both gasp. They stared at each other, with the dancing light from the flames highlighting the blush on their cheeks, and they both giggled nervously as they brought their bodies closer together. Arya set her hands on his shoulders, making him feel the peaks of her teats against his chest again. 

They burned hotter with every deliberate touch and kiss, as their coupling was not just an explosive, drunken tumble in the hay or in an alleyway behind a tavern, nor it was just closing their eyes and doing their duty either.

It was forever.

Their next kiss was soft, as they took their time to recognize each other only with their lips. Arya kept her eyes open, paying attention to the way Gendry's eyes stayed shut, and he remained still, while she brushed her lips against his. After a while, her mouth parted, and the tip of her tongue teased him, making him gasp into her mouth and holding her tighter.

Arya was the one to break the kiss, and Gendry groaned his dissatisfaction, but his lids still did not open. She chose that moment to tilt her pelvis and guide his cock to her entrance by the slickness of her folds. They both sighed at the sensations, and Arya liked how Gendry's forehead and jaw tensed in response to her movement. Long ago, she had learned of the pitfalls of relishing in one's power, yet she could not bring herself to care. 

If Gendry was going to be the carelessness that made her fall, she'd plummet gladly. 

"Open your eyes," she commanded.

Gendry obeyed, and he was rewarded by the blush on her cheeks and the way her lips parted as she lowered herself on him. The ease with which she took him halfway surprised them both, as it happened a bit faster than what Arya had expected, given how difficult their first time had been.

Arya moaned at the feeling of fullness, and Gendry groaned in return, so low she could sense the vibration coming through his chest, encouraging her to keep up with her rapid descent. Yet his large hands stopped her, holding tight on her hips.

"Slowly," he pleaded.

Arya set a trail of kisses down his temple and his cheek until she reached the lobe of his ear, which she nibbled hungrily, but when Gendry let her slide down half the way they still have to go, she couldn't do anything but pant loudly into his ear. 

"Am I hurting you?" he asked against her skin, and in response, Arya lifted herself a bit, and then she let herself sink all the way down.

Gendry's hands tightened on her hips, and he was sure he'd leave marks, and while the first time he had bedded his wife, he had felt ashamed of leaving bruises on her body, this time he had to bite his lower lip to prevent himself from smiling too smugly.

She held herself against him, and her lips searched again for his ear, and after biting on the lobe, giving him gooseflesh, she exhaled her warm breath on his ear and said, "It's not bad, just the right kind of hurt."

Gendry had thought he knew how it felt to be inside of Arya from his memories of their wedding night. After all, that memory was one he often revisited as he took himself to hand at the beginning of their marriage when he woke up hard against her body, and he had to find an excuse to leave their bed and find some privacy. That memory paled in comparison to having Arya lower herself willingly on him, getting his cock as far inside her body as he had ever been.

That thought forced Gendry to stay still for a moment, despite how desperately he wanted to take her hard and fast for his own selfish pleasure. He tried his best to think of anything other than the exquisite feeling of his wife around him to keep himself from spilling like a green boy. Arya had other plans, though. She swayed her hips experimentally and made high little noises as she inhaled through her mouth. Gendry fought to keep himself still, determined not to give in until it was Arya who set them at a steady pace. Each of her motions was stronger than the last, and soon, they were no longer shy little movements, revealing her budding eagerness, but the unbridled thrusts of a woman determined to catch her bliss. 

Gendry was enthralled by Arya seeking her pleasure in him, and the moment a deep moan left her mouth, he could not stop himself one more second. Anchoring his hands on her hips, he thrust up against her as she lowered herself on him, making them both pant at the heightened sensation. 

"Look at me," Arya half ordered, half pleaded, making Gendry aware his eyes had closed.

She didn't know for sure what made her say it, but there had been something in her chest, a pesky ache that slithered inside and dug itself deeper. Last time she felt it was when Gendry caught her wearing another's face, and he demanded she took it off. She wanted to chase that delicious pain inside again; make his blue eyes stare at her the way he had when the dead mask had fallen off, and she felt as naked as she was right then, with nothing between them but their combined sweat and Gendry's cock exquisitely buried within her.

One of his hands left her waist and cradled her nape, his fingers tangling in her wild hair. They had continued moving against each other, yet Gendry's eyes stayed on hers. 

"I'm yours, and you're mine," he said, as he bottomed out. 

Arya moaned at the way his words and his cock caressed her at the same time.

On the next stroke, she pulled herself closer to him, and forehead to forehead, she whispered close to his lips, "I'm yours, and you're mine."

Something broke inside his chest the moment she echoed his words, and Gendry held her hard to lift them both. He got on his knees to lower Arya on the furs, pleased with how clearly he could see his wife's face by the light of the hearth, and while they could feel the heat from its flames, it was nothing compared to the one their friction was creating. Nor the fire in the fireplace nor the forge's fires had ever compared to the one of their coupling. Gendry thought madly that he could take Arya outside and fuck her at the very top of the Wall, and neither of them would be affected by the cold of the North. 

There were no words anymore as their pace picked up, and they groaned and sighed against each other's skins. Arya held on tighter to Gendry's shoulder blades, trying to bring him closer. She tilted her hips up, lifting her feet high to open herself more. Her strong legs seemed to climb up on his back, prompting Gendry to hold on to her thigh, squeezing it gently. Arya stopped her movement at once, knitting her eyebrows at his gesture. Gendry opened his eyes when she didn't meet his thrust, a question, and an answer were given without words. Smiling and caressing her cheek with his nose, he patted her backside to prod her to move again. As her eyes softened slowly, he moved his palm from her ass to the back of her knee, and he pushed it back towards her chest, aiding her in her previous effort. Gendry gave one testing stroke, holding her leg up like that, and both moaned in unison at the new depth. Both sets of eyes widened at the sensation, and they smiled, renewing their efforts. 

Gendry saw the plan forming in her eyes, and he was ready before she set it in motion. Pushing herself up, Arya went for a bruising kiss, giving herself enough purchase to raise her leg higher from where he held it in his hand, and she lifted her foot until she hooked it on Gendry's shoulder. Pleased when her plan worked, she gave him an open-mouthed smile. Gendry's hand went back to her thigh, and without closing his eyes, he bit her bottom lip and smiled, timing it perfectly with a powerful thrust. Arya's body arched, raising her up so far she could see the fireplace upside down.

Gendry's eyes threatened to roll back, but he gritted his teeth, knowing he wasn't going to last long. His hand let go of her thigh, and he brought it to the place where they were joined, his fingers moving blindly, looking for her bud. When he found it, he teased it in the way he had learned drove her wild. His movements were desperate and clumsy, but by then, that was just the push she needed to fall down her bliss.

Arya's deep moan was no more than a mumble, but it was close enough for Gendry to swear it was his name, and that was all he needed to give in to the rhythm in which he craved to take her. He peaked soon after her, biting his lip to keep what he felt inside his chest. 

They stayed holding on to each other tight until the last of the aftershocks died out. Gendry didn't know how long they had stayed like that until Arya's flesh contracted around his softening cock, making him jerk and forcing one more wave of pleasure, so unexpected that they both had to laugh at his reaction. He slipped out of her then, and he let himself fall on his back on the furs, bringing her to rest on his torso.

Gendry ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp, and Arya felt she could fall asleep like that, but she did not wish to go to sleep yet. She lifted her head, to look into his eyes, and both stared at each other for a moment, letting twin smiles bloom on their faces. Arya crossed her arms under her breasts to lift herself on Gendry and pull herself up to bring her lips to his. Before she could reach him, Gendry's hand brushed her hair behind her ear, and he opened his lips to speak, but a loud howling interrupted him. 

Both turned towards the source, and Arya pushed herself off him, sitting up over the furs. 

"Is that Nymeria?"

Arya shook her head, and without turning back, she started getting up, prompting Gendry to do the same.

"No, it's not Nym, I can feel her still afar."

There was more howling, but not from one wolf but many.

"Ghost?"

Arya shook her head, and turning back to face him, Gendry saw the way her eyes narrowed with concern.

"No, Ghost cannot make a sound. It's not a direwolf, it's a _pack of wolves._ "

The howling grew all around them.

"Hundreds of them," he added.

It was soon not just howling, but yelling coming from outside, and it was clear that it was no longer the merry sounds from the wedding feast. 

They both got dressed in haste, and as they finished putting on their boots, Arya looked directly into Gendry's eyes, and she let out a wail as he had never heard before. 

In two strides he was by her, holding her as her knees went lax.

Gendry searched for her eyes, and when he found them, they were wet, and while her mouth was still open, it made no more sound.

"What is it?"

His question triggered something in Arya, and she finally took a breath, and as she exhaled, only one word came out.

"Jon."

* * *

Jon looked at his sister across the yard, in her husband's arms, dancing around to a mix of Westerosi tune and tribal music from beyond the Wall. As she held on to Gendry's shoulders, she looked towards Jon, with a wide smile. He was far, but he knew she was laughing, and for a moment, it was as she was back to being her old self, giggling as Robb danced and made her twirl, with Arya standing on his feet. 

He knew she was about to call him to join them, but Jon knew it couldn't be like before when he walked to his siblings, despite Lady Catelyn's displeased eyes, and he would have joined in, as the three of them twirled around. Jon looked down, to his boots, to give his good brother long enough to pull Arya back to him to the feelings he could see blooming between them. The vision had broken, and the man was not Robb, and his little sister was not little anymore. 

Dolorous Edd reached the place where he sat as he lifted his head back up, and getting closer, he told him that Alliser Thorne had ordered his horse saddled, informing everyone he intended to leave for Eastwatch that very night.

"Let him leave, Edd," Jon replied, and looking back to the dancers, he saw his sister leaving the feast hand in hand with her husband, as some of the men that had come with them cheered as they went by. 

"Good riddance," he added, referring to Ser Alliser, feeling suddenly tired. His eyes closed, and for a moment, he trotted in the snow, all the burdens of the Night's Watch gone. He felt only the cold air against his fur, and on his nose, the scent of weirwood trees and of the warmth of a summer day long dead.

He would have loved to stay there, beyond the Wall, but a voice cut through the connection, as sharp as Valyrian steel.

"You don't dance, Lord Commander?" 

His eyes opened to see Lady Melisandre, dressed in her red velvet dress. There were no furs nor cloak on her shoulders, despite how the gown dipped down, showing ample cleavage and leaving most of her upper chest bare, pale like a snowy hill, tinted only by the large ruby that adorned her neck. 

"No, my lady, I was-" Jon replied, standing up. 

"Far away, I know," she interrupted him and sat down right next to his place on the wooden bench. 

The woman signaled for him to sit by her with her red eyes, and Jon did, tired to even find an excuse to walk away.

It was not lost on some of the black brothers around how the red priestess leaned into the young Lord Commander, but they wouldn't know how disappointed Jon had been when the scent in his nose was no longer of summer snow, but the scorching scent of fire. He looked over to his side, to the fiery tresses spilling on his own shoulder, and the color seemed wrong, like the hard labor that was surely needed to dye the cloth of her gown. 

"Were you not enjoying the celebration, Jon Snow? Your sister and your good brother were."

Jon chuckled quietly, and the woman's veiled attempt to make him aware of what was blatantly obvious to him.

"Weddings are for those in love, after all," he replied, looking at Alys and Sigorn, laughing together.

"And you are not?"

"Am I not what?"

" _In love._ "

"No," Jon replied adamantly, looking away.

"But _you were,_ " the priestess persisted, "and not too long ago."

"It doesn't matter anymore."

 _'You know nothing, Jon Snow,'_ Ygritte tortured him once more. 

"You could feel like that again."

"Love?" Jon asked, looking away with a huff, "no, once was more than enough."

"Mayhaps, but that is not all. You could still feel the warm and pliable body of a woman underneath you."

Jon shook his head. 

"No, I'm a man of the Night's Watch. I shall take no wife and father no children."

"What I am talking about has nothing to do with either of those things. There is a great fire coursing through you, _Jon_ , and it is a pity you have buried it in the snow."

Jon pursed his lips and look down for a moment.

"I wouldn't know about that, my lady, but in any case, it's late," he said as he stood up, "and I must go to bed."

"Would you like company?"

Jon scrunched up his eyes, and once more, he shook his head.

"No, but thank you."

As he turned around to leave the red woman spoke, no sign of offense or shame in her voice, "Be careful, Jon Snow, for the night is dark and full of terrors, and in the flames I've seen you, surrounded by glinting daggers in the dark night."

Jon was a few steps away from her as she said the last of her words, but he did not stop. He started walking towards his solar, but stopped midway, remembering that his sister and good brother had left the feast early towards the cell that used to be his. It was a whole floor under his own chambers, but all the walls at Castle Black, besides the great one made of ice, were thin, and while he no longer distrusted her sister's husband, he didn't feel like listening in to their intimacy.

He walked around the grounds for a long while, away from his solar, and away from the festivities. After walking for some time, he felt cold, and he longed to go back to trotting beyond the Wall. He decided to head back to towards the Lord Commander's Tower, thinking that even if Arya and Gendry were too loud, he could always close his eyes and will himself back into Ghost, away from all the burdens of Castle Black. Both he and Arya had been teaching each other everything they knew of warging, and more than ever, he felt Ghost right under his skin. He couldn't hold on long enough, though, but he was right there at his fingertips. 

As he approached the tower, there was some movement in the dark. Jon narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was, and once he was close enough, the shadow he saw turned around, and he recognized Wick Whittlestick, his face ashen and contorted. 

"What is it?" Jon called a few steps away, noticing that behind him, there were others.

The black brother stammered and finally said, "It's the wildlings."

"What about them?"

"One tried to steal a woman that was not his, and there was fighting. Someone's dead."

Jon groaned to himself and got closer. 

Ser Alliser Thorne came from behind Wick, and Jon wondered why he was still there since Edd had told him he had informed everyone he was leaving a while before. That thought quickly vanished when he groaned internally, knowing that the man would use the conflict within the free folk to denounce, once more, his command. 

"Who died?" Jon asked, getting closer, but no one replied, and Wick tried to avoid his eyes. It was then that he saw who the other brothers were, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and others critical of his appointment as Lord Commander. 

"Wick, who was killed?" he asked again.

"Go on," Ser Alliser spoke, turning to Wick, "tell _the boy_ who it is."

Jon turned then towards the old steward, and a sudden glint forced his eyes to close for a moment. 

Jon didn't see the blow of the dagger but felt its kiss on his neck, and his hand came to hold on to the wrist of the man.

"Why?"

"For the Watch!" he wailed, trying to get his hand loose and slash again, but Jon bent it back, making him drop the knife. 

"You haven't figured it out yet, _stupid boy,_ " Ser Alliser spoke then, "the dead man is you."

Jon's jaw tensed, and his hand went to the pommel of Longclaw, trying to free it from its scabbard, but it was too late. 

"For the Watch!" another voice else yelled, and a blade buried itself in his flesh.

Jon turned to see Bowen Marsh, and what puzzled him the most was the tears running down his face. The thought didn't last long, as a second blade slashed at him, and another one stabbed him. Each man that came to join in the attack punctuated his blows with the same words. 

Jon fell down to his knees, and his shaky hands went to the dagger still embedded in his gut, and he pulled it free. As hot smoking blood poured out of him and it stained the snow underneath, only one word escaped his lips.

"Ghost."

He fell on the ground, and as he exhaled for the last time, he heard the howling of a wolf, but he no longer had a voice to speak.

____ 

Arya ran down the stairs, and the only things she could hear were Gendry's heavy footfalls on the old creaky wood and the rapid drumming of her heartbeat. When they reached the landing, they could see the black cloaks gather around something, like a murder of crows crying as they pecked at dead flesh. 

They moved away as she elbowed her way in, and no matter how much she tried to deny what she knew in her heart, the sight of her brother, lying over red snow with vacant eyes, sucked all the air from her lungs. 

Arya fell to her knees, right next to Edd Tollett, her brother's friend, who had his head on his lap, and he turned to her, crying like a boy.

"They've killed him," he sobbed.

Arya wailed once more, and threw herself at her brother's body, touching his face, and moving her hands over his chest, searching for his wounds; all her efforts turning her hands turned crimson. 

"Jon!" Arya yelled, and she shook him, trying to wake him, or herself, from the bad dream. 

Gendry was holding on to her from behind, but Arya fought to get away and pull her brother's body to her chest, and away from Edd. She called his name for a while until her voice went hoarse, and when he didn't wake up, her mind cleared enough for her to know there was only one thing for which to pray to her god.

Arya looked around, to faces of black brothers she had come to know. Satin was on hands and knees in front of her, crying. The rest looked somber, and more and more people were gathering around, men and women from the free folk, and from the queen's men. 

Even Lem and the brotherhood men stood there, no more jesting left in them. 

The faces of the ones Jon had named as his biggest detractors were not there when Arya looked for them. 

Her hand went to her hip, and she found it empty, as she had gotten dressed in a hurry and left all her weapons behind. The men that had betrayed her brother were clearly escaping, and she had to go after them, but she could not find the strength to let go of Jon. 

She turned once more to Jon's face, already ashen and with half-lidded empty eyes. 

She was late again. 

_The Ghost had been right._

While there was nothing else she could do for her brother, she could pay the God of Death, tenfold, for the death that had been taken.

A plan was forming in her mind, and she would have run to her cell to pick up her weapons and run towards revenge, but the sea of people had parted, and the red woman walked towards her, and Arya noticed, for the first time, that her hips didn't sway as she walked.

"We must move him," someone said.

"The ice cells," another proposed. 

"He must burn," somebody else yelled.

"No!" Arya yelled, "take him to his solar. Now!"

Men stared dumbfounded, until a loud voice behind her barked, "You heard her, take your Lord Commander to his solar!"

Gendry stood up then and pulled Arya to her feet, holding her against his chest, as Edd, Satin, and some other black brothers lifted Jon and headed towards the Lord Commander's chambers. Arya had let her husband hold on to her weight, but then, she had seemed to find her footing, and she moved away from him, towards the red priestess. 

Gendry saw Melisandre stay still, waiting for Arya to reach her as if she knew she would come to her.

"I told him I saw him in the flames," Gendry heard the witch tell Arya as soon as she was close enough. "I told him I saw him surrounded by enemies wielding daggers in the dark, but still, he refused to let me go with him."

"I don't care about your stupid fires," Arya said icily, and Gendry worried for a moment that his wife's hands would go to the bejeweled neck and wouldn't let go until there was no more fire left.

Instead, Arya opened her mouth and simply said, "Bring him back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Then, I dreamt of a hidden dragon, dying in the snow, and your tears raising the dead. In that wretched dream, there was a white songbird, a prisoner for years in her black cage, singing fearfully, perched on the mouth of the sky, wary of a hand that threatens to wring her neck when her song ends. And beyond the ice, I dreamt of a wolf that flies with wings he stole from a raven. But oh, he dreams worse dreams than I. And in the end, they showed me a pacing wild wolf, waiting for his chance to cross the sea, done having his fill of the flesh of men. Are these the dreams you crave, dark child?"_
> 
> _"I want the dreams you had about my home."_
> 
> _"Oh, I also dream of your home. You will find yourself there when you make your bed in the bloody snow. There you will weave your stories together for him once you shed all your bloody faces."_


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castle Black deals with the aftermath of the mutiny. Outside, a bloody battle is held, while inside the Lord's Commander's solar, a priestess of the Lord of Light prays restlessly. Not too far from there, a young wild wolf howls and an old flame fades out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me this long to post, but life got very complicated. If you follow me on Tumblr, you already know this. 
> 
> Also, one scene in this chapter gave me a lot of trouble to write, so I want to thank my dear friends @Persuade_me and @TheReluctantBadger, who listened to me, and bounce ideas with me until I figured out how to make the scene work. Thank you, guys. I am now very proud of the scene, and it wouldn't have gotten to where it did if it wasn't for you helping me. 
> 
> And I want to welcome all of the new silent readers, I want you to know that I appreciate you taking a chance on this fic. I know it takes courage to start a fic well past the 100,000-word mark.

[ ](https://imgur.com/Zh5v4so)

They were riding ahead of the man that wore the bones of his fingers around his neck. 

Rickon had been wary of him when he first came to his home, and after listening to what the man had to say, he went into the woods with Shaggy Dog, expecting the newcomer to be gone when he returned, but he was there still the next morning. When Rickon said that he couldn't believe what some pompous knight from the south had to say, the man recounted his story as a smuggler, shown him the stumps of his fingers, and even the bones inside the leather pouch.

That made Rickon laugh. 

Osha liked it when he laughed; it had been so long since she heard him laugh, after all. 

Davos had sensed his companions needed space, and he had fallen behind a bit, enough that they could talk without having him listen on to their conversation. 

"You're too quiet, _boy_ ," Osha said, knowing he'd grimace before it happened. 

She knew his face better than anything she had known in her entire life, it was not for naught that she had spent the last years staring at it, learning to read every minute gesture, like woods witches interpreted omens in runes

"I'm always like this. You always say I'm more wolf than man, anyway."

The word slapped her in the face for some reason. Yes, her boy was tall now, too tall for his age, in her opinion. How long had it been since she still carried him around when he got too tired to trek in the snow? He had steadily grown, despite hunger and cold, but in the last two years or so he had changed more than in all those other years put together. Osha still called him _boy_ , but he did look more like a man. Still, she pretended not to notice.

"You're a man now? I guess I should have guessed by that fuzz on your face or the girls that walk in front of you in the market, swaying their asses, hoping you'll steal them."

"Don't mock me, _mother_."

"Who can mock you if not me, huh? After all, I'm the one who cleaned your ass whenever you soiled yourself."

"Keep mocking me, and I won't clean _yours_ when you're old, and you soil yourself."

That made her laugh with that ugly laugh of hers. 

Too loud.

It used to embarrass him when they had just settled at Skagos. But that had been the little lordling that was long gone. 

Osha noticed how the corners of his lips curled upwards, despite himself, and he turned away, trying to hide it, pretending to check on the progress of the man behind. 

"I'll sooner walk into the ocean than be weak. But don't you worry about that, I will die in battle with my blade in my hand."

The boy huffed, and looked ahead, to Shaggy trotting along.

"You're remembering," Osha said, a while later, when he grew quiet again, his strong jaw tensing from time to time, under the fine-haired beard that had just starting to grow on his face a handful of moonturns before.

Rickon shook his head, and she let him have his time, knowing that he'd end up telling her sooner or later.

"I remember trekking in the snow, and being too tired as our boots sank deep in it."

Osha snickered. 

"When were _you_ trekking? I remember I carried you most of the way."

She liked how he glowered, he was almost a man grown, but he still looked like a babe when his ire made him pout. Mayhaps it was why she liked to jape so much, never letting him get too full of himself. He wasn't the little lordling he used to be when she met him. Instead, he looked like a real wildling, like he was really hers, and she could close her eyes and almost remember a false memory or birthing him in a hut, pushing hard until he came out of her, writhing like a bloody fish. 

"I won't mock you anymore, I promise," she finally said. "Tell me more."

He took a deep breath, weighing if it was just another of her tricks, and she would find a way to twist his words once more.

"I remember hiding," he said after a deep exhale. "I remember being cold and scared and sleeping against Shag to keep warm."

Osha let him reminisce, and once he fell quiet again, she dared ask the question. 

"Do you remember your brother Bran?"

Rickon thought for a moment and then spoke, "I remember _Summer_."

"Of course," she snorted, " _you_ would remember the direwolf."

"…and a boy who couldn't walk."

Osha didn't say anything, but she smiled at the memory of the other little lordling. 

Ser Davos trotted to reach them then and indicated that they should camp. There hadn't been time to visit the past anymore. While they camped and ate around a fire, the southern knight told them they should be reaching Castle Black soon, a day or two, at most. 

They had already eaten and lay to sleep when Shaggy woke up restless. Osha had still been awake when it happened, the direwolf stood up at once and ran away. Shaggy had been gone barely a few moments when the boy sat up agitated and drenched in sweat, and at the same exact moment Shaggy's distant howl was heard, and after that, howling coming from every other direction.

* * *

" _Bring him back_." 

Melisandre stared, and without blinking, she replied, "I can't do that."

Despite the redness around Arya's eyes and her tears' trails, Gendry noticed that she was as determined and in control as always. The only thing that betrayed her was the rush of words spilling out of her mouth.

"You can! I've seen it before, Thoros was a priest of the Lord of Light, and he brought Ser Beric back seven times. He told me he did a ritual, and Beric rose again after giving him a kiss."

" _The last kiss_ ," the priestess called it. "I can breathe flame into your brother's mouth and cleanse him for the Lord of Light, but it is not for resurrection. It's not what it is meant for, _child_."

"How do you explain Beric?" she argued. "And how do you explain how Beric gave up his last life to bring my mother back?!"

Her mother.

It was the first time Arya thought of Lady Stoneheart as her mother. 

Arya had so much hope, sitting in a tavern at White Harbor when she first heard of her mother, but then she met her, desiring with all her might that it was indeed the mother she had longed for. 

But she was not.

It was just revenge cast in stone and reanimated by the fires of hatred. Yet, the name had poured out of Arya's mouth in the desperation to prove that a god she did not believe in could give her brother life.

"R'hllor's designs are mysterious. It is not for us to question him or make demands," the red woman dared say, enraging Arya.

"I don't care what you believe in! You'll do everything you can to bring my brother back to life or bid farewell to yours."

At that moment, Edd, Satin, and two other black brothers, Arya did not recognize hoisted Jon's body up and started walking towards the Lord Commander's solar. As the body was moved, a deep crimson stain was left on the snow, and Melisandre kneeled to touch the cold blood, burying her hands in it.

"Melisandre!" Arya yelled, getting her attention. "You'll be coming with us, or I swear, there won't be anything left of you by the time your precious Stannis is back."

* * *

Jon's body was set on the large oak table that used to be covered in maps and parchments. His black brothers moved back as Arya embraced her brother's body, allowing herself just one more moment of sorrow before she busied herself with the task at hand. Carefully, she freed Jon of the clothes the daggers had ripped apart as they were embedded into him. 

Gendry remained silent behind her, watching her work, his hand always on her shoulder. All the stories Arya had shared with him about the House of Black and White had been just stories for him. Yet, seeing her work unlacing, and pulling item after item meticulously made it real. For the first time, her accounts of how she used to prepare the bodies of the poor souls who had gone to the poisoned pool seeking solace were more than stories told under the veil of night. Gendry couldn't make up the words Arya was saying, but she kept mumbling something as she so carefully cleaned her brother's torso. Her cloth had been barely wet with water from a basin and then bright crimson with his blood. Gendry could see his wife's silent tears falling on Jon's wounds, and he thought that she was cleaning him with her sorrow.

"My lady," Satin spoke, "you don't have to do this. We are his brothers, it's our duty."

"I like you, Satin," Arya spoke, without looking away from her brother's eyes, "my brother trusts you. Do not tell me what is or not my duty. You may be his brothers, but he was _mine_ first."

Arya looked up from her task at the somber-looking men.

"If this is about undressing and cleaning him, he is hardly the first dead body I have taken care of. Now, if what you are worried about is his nakedness and that being unsuitable because I am a lady, I must first tell you that I grew up swimming in the spring pools of Winterfell, and none of my brothers was shy. And secondly, my husband will tell you I'm not a lady, and I saw worse growing up. Now, you tell me I shouldn't do something for Jon _one more time_ , and you can get the fuck out of here unless you want to deal with my Fang."

The man in question pursed his lips and looked down.

"Arya," Gendry spoke, and he held on tighter to her shoulder.

"Yes, _husband_?" she replied, turning only enough to see him out of the corner of her eye, and it was all that Gendry needed.

"Satin," he said instead, "my wife knows what she's doing."

The men nodded lightly, and they let her continue with her work, keeping whatever they thought of the scene to themselves. Dolorous Edd left as soon as Jon was set on the table, vowing to catch his assailants. From outside the solar, they all could hear the sounds of uproar. There was no question that the rift between the men of the Night's Watch was turning bloody, as Edd and his brothers sought the traitors that had ended the life of their Lord Commander. 

Arya felt the call to hunt them down herself, to rip them apart, limb by limb and gorge in their blood, but the need to stay with Jon was greater.

There would be time for retribution.

She stood up only when she was pleased with her labor, and she addressed the only other woman in the room.

"He is ready. Bring him back."

"I can try," the red woman explained, walking closer, and setting her palm over the large wound on the left side of Jon's chest, "but you have to understand, it may not work. The man you talked about before, if Thoros of Myr brought him back, it was not because Thoros willed it, but R'hllor."

"Bring him back," Arya repeated, ignoring her. "I agreed to your prophecies, and I've followed your king. Do this for me, and I will not doubt Stannis is meant to sit on the Iron Throne. Bring him back, and I will have the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands backing his claim."

Melisandre eyed her impassively for a few moments, and then she finally spoke, "Fine, my lady. I will give him the last kiss."

She then turned to Satin, and the other two young recruits and commanded them, "We need fire, and the hearth is not enough. Bring in a brazier."

The men assented and left to do as she had ordered them.

"I must swallow the fire and kiss it into his mouth," she said then to Arya. "I will do my best, but it's not up to me but to R'hllor. If it doesn't work-"

"It will work," Arya interrupted her.

"But if it _doesn't_ , at least the fires of the Lord of Light will cleanse his soul."

* * *

Gendry was no stranger to the fires of the red god. After all, he had spent enough time watching Thoros. It was different with the red woman, even when some of her chanting sounded the same, there was something otherworldly, menacing, in her red eyes. Mayhaps it was that for Gendry, Thoros was still just a regular man, who jested and drank too much.

Once the brazier was lit, the priestess spent a long time praying in a foreign language with her hands over the flames. Meanwhile, Arya remained by Jon's head, her own hands set on either side of it, cradling it, and she bent from time to time to kiss his forehead and whisper secrets of her own. 

Satin and the other young black brothers had not been invited to witness what was about to happen, and instead, they had been posted outside the door, tasked by Arya to guard it with their lives. 

After a long while of praying and chanting over the fires, Melisandre lowered her face, close enough to lick her skin. Gendry knew of fire's power as any smith worth his salt and had no doubt that no real flesh could stand so close to the flame and remain unblemished. Meanwhile, Melisandre moved her hands in repetitive motions towards her mouth, as if drinking from a stream.

Arya eyed the woman carefully, with her hands caressing the rapidly cooling skin below Jon’s beard, feeling the groove of the graze of a blade, no longer bleeding. She lowered her face to his forehead and whispered offerings to the God of Death. From the moment she had been spirited away from King's Landing, Arya had her fair share of bartering. She was not shy nor scared of making dubious deals, and this was no different, though the skin in the game was far more precious than anything she had gambled on before. However, there was no time for hesitation, as she observed the red woman brushing her knuckles over her mouth, just as if wiping wine as red as blood from her lips. The wolf in Arya growled as the woman approached her brother and placed one hand over the wound on his brow and another over the deep cut that led to his heart. Melisandre chanted a few more incantations, and then she lowered herself until her red lips brushed Jon's mouth, but Arya tamed her savage heart, and she did not let go of her brother's head. 

Melisandre blew gently as her thumb pulled down Jon's lower lip, prying it open. In the darkened room, the light of flames pouring out the red priestess glowed. Once the fire stream was gone, Melisandre stood up and moved around, without taking her hands from Jon's skin. She prayed in her foreign tongue with such fervor that Gendry was able to see a sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead. The invocation that started at a whisper grew as forge fires fed by the bellows. The woman continued pacing around, and her hands were no longer caressing, but squeezing dead flesh, hard enough that they would have left bruises if blood had still been pumping through Jon's veins. Meanwhile, Arya had bowed, and her crying was no longer silent. Her tears fell freely over Jon's face, and they rolled down his cheeks, making it look as if the corpse was indeed crying. 

The howling of wolves pierced the night once more, as the woman continued her frantic chanting, and Arya's strength seemed to falter as she sobbed. Gendry's arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and she let him pull her back, bringing her to his chest, with his head resting on her chin. As the wolves howled, fresh tears came to Arya's eyes, and they slid easily down her cheeks and fell over Gendry's hands and on to the old wooden floor. Arya felt her heart race, with the fast trotting of wolves, rushing from opposite directions, heavy paws leaving deep tracks on the snow.

Melisandre, prayed, raising her voice over the laments of faraway wolves.

"Bring him back!" Arya yelled, held up by Gendry's arms, as she could no longer keep herself up.

Her back arched, and her head slumped over her husband's shoulder as she bared her neck.

"I'll do anything," she sobbed. " _Anything_ you want, just bring him back."

Gendry couldn't tell how long the ritual had lasted, but the room darkened slowly, as the candles were consumed, and the fires on the hearth and the brazier slowly died down to mere embers. He saw as all power seemed to leak out of the red woman, her hands trembling more and more until she finally let her head hang, and she stopped her praying.

"Why did you stop?!" Arya cried as she pulled herself away from Gendry, and ran to the priestess. "Keep going, please, bring him back!"

Along with Arya's sobs, the red priestess, always so collected, simply wept. Arya's weight gave out, and clinging to the red velvet of Melisandre skirts, she pleaded for the last time, "I'll do _anything_ , please."

"I've done it all," the priestess gasped, falling to her knees.

* * *

Gendry had seen Arya cry before, but nothing as she was doing it then. It was as if the last string of hope that still kept her tethered to the world had snapped. He had come behind her, and gently, he took her away from the sobbing witch. Arya turned in his arms and buried her face in his chest. Gendry stood up, lifting her in his arms, and he walked out of the room. Black brothers were still guarding outside, and out in the yard, Gendry could see the fights, but nothing mattered anymore. 

He stopped, just for a moment, to say to the men, "once the red woman leaves, guard this door with your life. No one shall disturb his body, and no one will sit in the Lord Commander's chair until my wife has had a chance to grieve."

He couldn't tell if Arya understood or even heard what he had said, as he only felt her quiet sobs and the wetness of her tears on his neck. 

Gendry carried her back to their cell and closed the door behind them. It was pitch black by then, and the mat and furs on the floor mocked him, remembering suddenly how happy they had been just a few hours before. He pushed the bedding to the side with his foot, and he gently settled Arya on the bed. After taking her boots off, he walked to the hearth, and poked the embers and added a couple of logs to warm the cold cell. Gendry stood up and took off his own boots and doublet, and then he turned to the bed, to see Arya sitting up. He had seen his wife after battle, face dirtied by mud and blood, and yet, the sight of her reddened and swollen eyes had scared him far worse. 

"I let my guard down," she said, in a voice that broke his heart. "And I was too late… again."

He advanced slowly towards her, and she stood up and sought solace in between his arms once more. 

"It was not your fault," he said with his lips against her hair. 

"I'm so tired."

Gendry knew her well enough to know that she didn't mean it in a literal way, but still said, "Let's get you to bed."

Gendry's hands came to her laces, and they busied themselves, untying them as if the action could help free her from her grief. It was a stark contrast to how they had frantically disrobed earlier. Once she was bare, Gendry lifted the covers, and she climbed after, folding into herself, looking so much smaller than she actually was. He turned and took the furs from the floor and set them on top of Arya, and only when she was calm and covered, he undressed and joined her. Gendry placed his palm on her back, feeling it rise and fall slowly with her breathing, he hoped it meant she would fall into slumber soon, and that would give her respite, even if just for a night. Yet, she turned around after a few moments, letting herself come back into his arms, and he combed her hair with his fingers, trying to soothe her. Arya let Gendry cocoon her, with his lips brushing her forehead, and his fingers making circular motions on her naked back.

Gendry felt Arya move against him until she was half lying on top of him, her face close to his neck. His fingers continued running through her hair, and they gave her scalp a soft massage. But instead of letting herself be lulled to sleep, Arya started nuzzling his neck, placing the faintest of kisses over it, and then moving slowly up to his jaw.

Gendry moved his head down a bit to look at her and found her grey eyes, just a thin ring around the black of her irises. They promptly closed, and she moved up to find his mouth. Gendry stayed still and felt her softly brushing her lips to his. Once she was convinced that he would not move away, the kiss grew. Gendry had not realized that his eyes had closed, but when he opened them, Arya looked intently at him, with eyes that seemed to ask a question, and Gendry swallowed the lump in his throat.

She pushed her up on his chest, supporting herself on her forearms, and her hands came to each side of his face. They stared at each other for an instant, and then she lowered her face to kiss him, slowly making Gendry lose himself in the moment. He could hear Arya's soft sighs, but there was something more in them, something more than want. The feeling of a sob exhaled on his lips pulled him back to reality. 

Knowing those were the sounds of a wounded animal tore at his heart. 

"Arya, wait, please."

She pulled away, and he saw pain evident in her eyes.

"I thought…"

"Shhh…” he said, bringing her back into his embrace.

"Please, Gendry," she begged. "I need you."

"I'm here," he sighed, brushing her hair back.

"It's not enough."

Her words slapped him hard. He knew it, he had always known it, since their time back in the kingsroad, when they were children. In the face of Arya's terrible loss, thinking that without her beloved brother, he would never be enough for her again, he feared only that she'd slip from his hands.

"I need _you_ to make me forget," she sighed on his lips before biting on his lower lip. 

There was no mistake about what she was asking for. 

"You said you'd take me more than once tonight," she reminded him, in between of kisses that were more than eloquent, but the memory of their earlier banter hurt them both.

Gendry had to use all his willpower to gently pull her from his lips.

"I didn't mean like _this_."

Arya sat back as if she had been suddenly burnt by his words.

"Because I'm _broken_?"

He brought her to his lap, and with a kiss to her temple, he tried to convince her otherwise.

"Shhh, no, not that. Never. You just lost-"

"Don't say it," Arya interrupted him, pushing her palm on his chest a bit too hard.

"I won't," he replied, daring to bring his hand to her lower back, getting her closer slowly, trying not to spook her.

Arya let her forehead rest on his chin, as she pleaded, and the heat of her breath on his neck made him shudder and growl.

"I need to forget. Gendry, _please_."

There was nothing he wouldn't do for her, and he knew that if she asked for it, he'd give her a bit of pleasure to grant her broken heart a little comfort through such tragedy.

It was far different from their coupling earlier on the same night when the world still made sense. Gendry had known what it was like to desire Arya since that morning when they sparred together in front of the inn's orphans. He felt that there was something else drawing them together right then, though, while he held her weight as they slowly joined. 

Their lovemaking was slow and quiet, but it still left them panting afterward. Gendry massaged her back and the skin on the leg over his hip until he heard Arya's breathing becoming calm as she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Arya's head felt heavy and disoriented as she woke up. With eyes still closed, she tried to read everything around her, just as she had been taught in Braavos, but all her senses were unsettled, and the only consistency was the thud under her head. Taking a deep breath, the scent of Gendry, and his warmth filled her. Arya opened her eyes to find herself on his chest, and her arms and legs wrapped around him. Gendry's hands held on to her back and the thigh crossing over his middle. 

It took a moment to remember, the frantic way they had coupled over furs, with the flames as witnesses, and later, when Gendry loved her to comfort her for her loss.

_Her loss._

Jon was dead.

The thought hit her as hard as it did the first time, and any memory of what had transpired between them dissolved. She didn't know what had woken her. Looking toward the small window in their cell, she saw a blue tint to it, but it was still dark. 

"Arya?" Gendry asked, and she felt the way his words vibrated from inside his chest and how the cadence of his heartbeat changed. 

She turned her head up to look at him, and they stared at each other for a few moments. Gendry brought his hand to her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb, making Arya close her eyes to relish the feeling. Opening her eyes, Arya saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and something pulled at her heart, worried about what he would say. It didn't matter in the end, since a loud commotion outside drew their attention. There were shouts, and the sounds of hasty steps, of the crow brothers running from one place to the other. 

Arya stood up at once, quickly followed by Gendry. The well-known fear that always kept her on her toes was there again. They both dressed haphazardly, and Arya didn't even worry about her smallclothes before pulling up her breeches.

They could hear heavy footfalls and shouts above them, but they couldn't know what it was. Gendry's eyes look wild, thinking they were under attack, and he turned back to grab their swords. Arya ran to the stairs, and she almost bumped into a young recruit who was coming down, walking backward, wary of some threat Arya could not yet see. Looking up, over the shoulder of the young man, she saw him, coming down the stairs, eyes bewildered and lost, his pale skin seemed almost blue in the cold dawn, with crusty black blood over the many stabs on his body, and nothing else. Another man was trying to block him; he kept saying "Lord Commander," with his gloved hands stretched in front of him, trying to calm him, as one would do a wild animal. Jon was raving, moving from side to side, trying to continue down, and after a few attempts, he growled, baring his teeth, and pushed the young man with all his might, making him fall back down the steps. The man in front of Arya barely had time to try to hold on to his falling brother, but he was knocked down to the floor, nonetheless, and Arya moved to the side just in time to avoid getting caught. 

"Jon!" Arya yelled his name, trying to catch his attention. 

She didn't have to turn to know that Gendry had caught with her when she heard the sound of the swords falling on the wooden floor. 

Jon had been crazed, looking at everything but not focusing on anything, until he heard her. He turned as his chest heaved, and he looked around as if searching for something, but not being able to see Arya and the men around him. 

"Jon," Arya called once more, with her hands in front of her, but kept them from touching him.

Jon turned toward her, his chapped lips open and closed a few times, but no voice came out. The wild eyes finally focused on hers, but the softening of recognition never came. 

Jon kept advancing, and Arya got out of his way. She saw Satin trailing behind, holding a blanket. 

"My lady," Satin spoke, and she saw him struggle for words. "He came out like this, and he doesn't seem to recognize any of us."

Arya did not wait for any more information, and she ran down the stairs to follow her brother. When she reached the yard, she could see that more and more people were coming, attracted by the commotion. As her brother continued moving, fast and erratic, with his bare feet sinking in the snow unbothered, the sea of people made of soldiers, free folk, and black brothers parted, letting him pass. Arya was halfway to where he was when he fell to his knees, and in all fours, Jon arched his back, letting out a muffled howl. By the time Arya reached him, she had the blanket that she had taken from Satin in her hands, and she covered him. He may not have been able to recognize her, but at least he let her cover him and wrap her arms around him while he shook.

They couldn't know that far south from there, a fire that had burned for over a hundred years faded out.

* * *

Arya walked down the damp stone steps that led to the ice cells the day after Jon rose. Edd had informed her that the masterminds of the mutiny had been rounded up and caught. Edd had given chase to Ser Alliser, along with two more of the men loyal to her brother. The cowardly man fled on his horse, but they were able to find him, and dragged him back. Four men were held in the ice cells, and three more had been killed in the fighting, in which some wildlings had aided those still loyal to Jon, condemning the betrayal.

All while Melisandre tried desperately to resurrect her brother. 

Jon rose again, but it was still unclear if who had been brought back by the Lord of Light, or whatever other gods that had intervened, was still her brother.

Edd had also informed her that the prisoners, while traitors and murderers, were still men of the Night's Watch, and they would receive the justice of the Night's Watch. It took all of Arya's willpower not to sneak in there the night before, and have them go through her blade without anyone noticing until it was too late. 

Once more, the wolf blood they shared called her to remain by his side. He had at least allowed his brothers to dress him, but he hadn't uttered a word yet. There were moments when he looked towards Arya, and for an instant, she almost saw a bit of recognition, and then nothing. The night before, when she had finally left Jon asleep, on the floor, curled in front of the fire, she went to her cell, only to find it empty. There was only one place where she knew she'd find her husband.

Approaching him, as he slammed his hammer down onto the iron on the anvil, Arya felt transported back to when she first saw him at the crossroads. He even recited names with every bang, including some of those men who had betrayed her brother.

This time she didn't have to say anything to make Gendry set his hammer down and turn to see her. She hadn't given him time to say anything before she jumped into his arms and kissed him with all her pent up emotion. His hands had flown to her ass, holding her up. Gendry walked around, bumping into things until he set her on a table covered in smithing tools that Arya quickly cleared with her hands. They kissed ardently until Arya pushed him away when she could not reach the laces of his breeches while they kissed. Gendry was a bit disoriented until he realized what she was doing. He questioned her with a look, but his concern lasted only one second when Arya's hand found his cock and pulled it free, prompting him to kiss her with renewed passion. Again, they were interrupted when Arya let go of his lips to unlace her breeches. Gendry pulled them down, and when he couldn't spread her legs enough, he took off one of her boots and pulled it off one leg. Outside was dark, and inside, only the dying fire from the forge gave some light. There was no way to know if anyone could see them, as they hadn't closed the door, but they did not care either. 

They fucked quickly and gracelessly, and just long enough to work out the very wild and disparate feelings of the last day and a half. Arya bit Gendry's shoulder hard enough to break his skin as she peaked. Gendry was surprised by her reaction since the encounter had been clumsy and erratic. His fingers finding their way to one teat under her shirt, and the thumb of his other hand had searched blindly for her nub, and barely gave it a couple of awkward rubs before he felt her clench around him. That sensation had been enough for him to let go.

As soon as they were done, Arya pushed him out before he was even soft enough to slip out naturally, and she jumped off the table, got her leg into her breeches, and drew them up. It took them just a few moments to get themselves sorted. Arya took his hand without saying a word and pulled him towards their cell, where they made love again, this time, having had enough time to disrobe and with Arya straddling her husband before they fell asleep.

* * *

At dawn, Arya slipped away from Gendry's embrace, and she left for the ice cells, careful to dress without waking him. 

The prisoners didn't hear her arrive until Arya was already standing in front of them, her hand squeezing tightly around her sword's pommel. The first one to notice her was Ser Alliser Thorne, who was standing when she arrived. With his face on his hands, Bowen Marsh sat, and Wick Whittlestick just stared ahead, with empty eyes. There was one more man in there, Arya did not know his name, only that he looked too young and too scared to have been one of the planners, just flotsam in the wave of betrayal.

"Are you here to take your revenge for your bastard brother, my lady?"

Arya remained quiet despite the taunting.

Bowen raised his face when he heard Thorne. 

"I do not regret it, you hear me?" the disgraced knight continued. "I'd do it a hundred times over."

Arya got closer until her eyes were clear to them in between the bars.

"You only got the one chance, Ser Alliser. You will die soon, anyway."

"By your blade?"

Arya exhaled. 

"If I had my way."

"You have to understand," Bowen interrupted. "I did what I had to. I'm a man of the Night's Watch! I took vows."

"To kill your own Lord Commander? Did your vows say anything about that?"

"It was for the Night's Watch."

_'For the Night's Watch.'_

Arya had heard the story of those who witnessed the end of her brother's betrayal. Every one of those last blows and stabs was given _'for the Night's Watch.'_

The wolf in her bared her teeth and growled.

"He was your Lord Commander. Everything _he_ did was for the Night's Watch!"

"Fuck a wildling? Betray his brothers? Collude with Stannis for personal gain? Send the king-beyond-the-wall to rescue you?" Ser Alliser Thorne inquired with bile spilling out of his mouth.

"He was chosen by his black brothers. You owed him your trust that he had the best interest of the Night's Watch at hand." 

"You have to understand, the Night's Watch is meant to stay out of Westerosi politics. And we have been fighting the wildlings outside of the Wall. I did what I had to," Marsh tried to explain himself.

"You use your oath to justify killing my brother. I have heard your oath, and my brother kept it. He lived and died at his post. And yes, he brought the free folk to this side, to keep them from the Others. My brother vowed to shield the realms of men. Tell me, are free folk not among them? Let me know when you die, and you will die in the next few days, do not doubt that. Will you be able to say that you upheld your vows the way my brother did?"

Bowen Marsh only looked down, Wick Whittlestick continued looking away, the young boy wept, and Alliser Thorne huffed.

Arya turned around to leave.

"Oh," she said, looking back, letting them see her face. "You failed."

"What?" Thorne asked.

"I just wanted to let you know that my brother has risen again."

"He survived?" Marsh asked perplexed.

"No, you killed him, but he was brought back."

Ser Alliser asked, "As a wight?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Are you saying that he is as he was?" Bowen inquired.

"Oh, no. My brother is not a crow anymore."

"What is he then?"

"A _wolf_."

* * *

A man and a woman were spotted by the Wall guards before they reached the tunnel gate. Their attire letting the young men clad in black furs know the newcomers were wildings, as soon as they were seen with a Myrish eye. The wildling woman knew they were observed, and she laughed as she shook her head.

"What is so funny?" her companion asked, turning to her. 

"The crows, filling with pride because they spotted us and not knowing that if we had meant to sneak on them to slay them, they'd be already dead."

"Yet, you seem eager to come back."

His eyes narrowed, curious to see her reaction.

"I am not, you know that."

"Yes, it was certainly _me_ , the one that rushed us back."

The broad man peppered just enough mirth in his words to irritate the woman in the white furs, but not too much, so she couldn’t miss that he was weighing her reactions.

"Don't speak of what you don't know, Tormund. It wasn't me either; it was the direwolf. He's the one eager to be back." 

The man huffed as they continued to approach the gate. He stared at the great white beast, and he declared, "It's not the direwolf. It's _your crow_ hiding inside it, who has been spying on us and rushing us back. You know this, Val."

"He's not my crow," she was adamant, and Tormund knew he was chancing getting a dagger in his massive belly.

" _He will be_ when you steal him."

"If I wanted him," Val replied with a twinkle in her eye, "he would already be mine."

The large man let out a rumbling belly laugh.

"Sure."

"I want to see the babe," Val confessed, looking ahead. "Make sure he is safe, find out if Mance is back."

Tormund eyed her carefully for a while, and then he finally asked, "If Mance told you to fuck the crow, would you?"

"No one tells me what to do."

"Not even Mance?"

"No."

The white-haired man stayed silent for a few more steps, and then he said, without turning to see her, "And yet you came to get me because it was _your_ idea."

Tormund was sure she was about to yell and call him names, mayhaps even unsheathe the dagger strapped to her thigh, but it was then the large gate opened, behind it, a green boy in crow's clothes.

"What do you want?"

"I was sent by your Lord Commander to bring Tormund here to talk terms."

The young man remained there, motionless.

"What's wrong? Aren't you going to let us pass?"

"I told you we should have just climbed at night," Tormund added, seemingly entertained by the situation.

"Your Lord Commander sent me, can't you see I have his direwolf with me?"

Ghost paced around, with an uncharacteristic edge.

The young boy just nodded and moved to let them in. Once they were past all the gates and found themselves in Castle Black, Val saw the crow they called Dolorous Edd approaching.

Ghost did not wait any more, and took off, leaving Val and Tormund behind. 

"Val," the man greeted her.

"What is this?"

"Nothing, I just want to escort you."

"Why? Didn't Jon tell you he sent me to get Tormund?"

"He did not," Edd admitted. "But that is not the issue."

Val looked around with growing concern, and she let out quick questions, "What is the issue? Is Mance back? What has that man he calls himself king done? Where is his witch?"

"King Stannis left for the mountain clans over a fortnight ago," Edd explained.

"Let us pass then. Or go fetch your precious Lord Commander if you don't believe me."

"See, I told you, Val, that the little crow would be craven. Go let your Lord Commander know that I have come all this way to kill him."

"See, that is the problem," Dolorous Edd replied. "Someone already beat you to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you can take a couple of minutes to tell me what you think. It was certainly an eventful chapter. 
> 
> As you can imagine, I don't have the next one posted this weekend, but the one after, and I will have to go back to posting every other week for a little bit, since I've eaten up most of my writing cushion, and life has gotten way too complicated. 
> 
> Thank you!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon wakes to a new life and he must find himself. Arya deals with her grief the only way she knows how, and it prompts her and Gendry to speak about what is happening in between them. And at last, a young wild wolf joins his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write (I feel like I keep saying that every chapter). It was growing too much and it had too many POVs, as we clearly have to see the aftermath of recent developments from the perspective of many characters. I decided to split it, and I am a lot happier with how I was able to work this part. 
> 
> I'll do my best to get the next one out as soon as possible, but it should be posted, at the very least in a couple of weeks.
> 
> Thank you all of you for reading, to the new readers who kudos and binge, and to the ones who have been here from the beginning, leaving encouraging comments that encourage me to write more and better. I couldn't have written all of this without you.

[ ](https://imgur.com/iPBBbD0)

In the beginning, there was nothing. 

Fire had not yet been created, only cold. 

Burning salt pierced him through the breaches that the glinting daggers left in his body. 

The new world was carved out of silence and snow. 

A word that had caught in his throat, a lifetime before, tried to come back out, but only smoke emerged from his cold blue lips. 

There were no thoughts in his head, just hunger and fury under his skin. 

The dawn of his birth had been excruciating.

He fell to the floor, but instead of feeling his feet sinking in snow, there was just cold weathered wood. In the stuffy room where he was left, there was not enough air to breathe.

A lump of lit coal sat in his throat, and he felt the need for the cold wind of the North to quench it. He pushed the door hard with his shoulder to free himself, and crows swarmed him, trying to peck at his flesh again.

He pushed past them, knocking them all down until his feet sank in the blessed snow. 

He was lost and alone, and they were surrounding him to hunt him again. He fell to his hands and knees, and he howled for his pack, but only a muffled cry came out.

* * *

Gendry couldn't sleep, despite the ache on his muscles from the smithy, and despite the cadence of the heartbeat against his chest, that any other time would have lulled him into peaceful oblivion. Slumber evaded him, as he thought into the eerie night.

In the low light of their cell, he could barely make the features of his wife's face, calm and almost sweet, with her lips parted, still swollen from their kisses. Her eyes had been permanently rimmed with red, but it wasn't as noticeable while she slept. Gendry could almost pretend that everything was fine and that their earlier coupling had been prompted by nothing besides their desire and the feelings they were still not speaking about.

He knew that was a lie.

When his good brother was killed, and after the red witch collapsed to the floor in defeat, Gendry had felt hollow. He hadn't had enough time with Jon, but he had grown fond of him, mayhaps because they shared so much in common, or mayhaps because of all of Arya's stories. The truth was that what hurt him the most was seeing his wife in so much pain. His instinct had been to take Arya and leave to find their way south, back to the Riverlands, to some village where no one knew their names, or even farther than that, get to Maidenpool and sail to Essos and away from fucking Westeros. He only wanted to take her away from her sorrow, to a place where death could no longer touch her, and he could lick her wounds until she learned to smile again. 

Arya had sought comfort in their bed, and despite his reticence, feeling that he was wrong to bed her while she was distraught, he had gone ahead with it. He did what he could to help, but he felt guilty for finding pleasure in it.

Yet, Jon had risen again; however, there was still enough mourning to be had, as his good brother was not the one from Arya's memories. Arya had sought Gendry every night since Jon died, trying to heal something with his flesh. Even after Jon had been brought back, she came every night to the forge or to their cell, and they fucked until Arya was able to quiet her mind and fall to sleep. Gendry was grateful that she had turned to him in her grief, instead of shunning him, but he would lie if he said that only meeting his wife at night for fucking, and being shut away from her thoughts was not leaving him upset and robbing him of sleep. 

The pleasure that he felt in their encounters always soured when he was left alone with his thoughts, despite how much Gendry wished every day to see her as calm and sweet as she slept in his arms, and no matter how tight he held her.

* * *

Jon could feel _him_ close, just on the other side. 

There were a few more words in his mind than there were on the first day, but none in his throat as the crows kept asking questions.

_Pecking, pecking, pecking, always pecking for an answer._

The young woman also wanted something, words that did not come to his lips. 

_She looked like another ghost, small and smiling with mussed hair._

He let them clothe him, but it felt like he wore someone else's furs. 

_Black was the wrong color._

_Red was worse._

On the third day, he sensed himself on the same side of the Wall, at last.

The young woman had been telling him something he only vaguely remembered, distant, but nonetheless _his_. He felt the call under the skin, and he chased it, just as he would have if he caught the scent of prey in the cold forest air. 

He found his way to the yard and saw himself there, running towards him. 

The noise and the horror finally quieted in his head when he buried his face in the white fur. 

"Ghost," a word finally bloomed.

A warm hand on his shoulder broke the moment, and he turned to find her there, _always there, wanting something._

He had nothing to give her before; still, she kept trying.

"Jon?" she asked one last time, and even if she didn't ask him again, he knew what she had been expecting.

He stood up, and her hand slid down until it rested on his forearm. 

She was a memory from another life, but he could at least give her what she had been praying for.

"Arya," he said, with a voice as gruff as death.

Only then did she let herself hug him tight, with her face buried on his chest. There was a feeling, warming slowly from an ember where his heart used to beat. It was odd, and while it did not match what the woman, _Arya_ , felt, it was enough to bring an uncoordinated hand to the back of her head to comfort her.

* * *

The thought kept repeating in Val's head.

_Jon was dead._

The moment Dolorous Edd informed both Tormund and her of the mutiny that took the young Lord Commander's life, there was only one thought in her mind, and she pushed past the black crow to find the source of her concern. 

The room where Gilly slept with Craster's monster was dark and cold without a fire in the hearth. Val walked slowly to the cot where both babes slept, but there was only a discarded blanket left in it. Val felt a drop in her chest as she grabbed the cloth and walked out of the room. Outside, both Edd and Tormund waited for her.

"Val," the crow called, with his hands extended, trying to stop her.

"Where is the red witch?! Tell me or get out of my way!"

Val's ears buzzed, and her breathing labored, just as if she was back in the tent, trying to stop the river of blood in between Dalla's legs. 

"Val, stop, calm down," the black crow kept repeating.

"I'll calm down when the witch is dead," she said, pushing past Dolorous Edd. 

"The babe is safe."

Val stopped at once and turned around.

"Where is he?"

" _Not here._ "

"Did Mance come back?" she asked with a flicker of hope.

"No, I'm afraid we still don't know anything about Mance."

"Where is his son, then? My sister's child. The witch wanted to burn him. Swear on whatever you love the most and tell me the witch didn't burn him."

_'Not_ him _, my child,_ ' a voice said in her mind.

"Jon sent them south with Sam. She wanted Mance's child and Maester Aemon away from the red woman."

Val clenched her teeth and shook her head as she looked down. It dawned on her that Jon had sent her north to fetch Tormund to make that wretched plan of his work. 

_The crafty little crow._

He had made a fool out of her. 

She had promised Dalla that she would care for her child as it was her own, and the babe was not yet six moonturns old, and Val had already failed her. 

"He's lucky he's already dead, because I swear to you, I'd do it with my bare hands if he weren't after this betrayal."

_'Betrayal,'_ she thought. Jon had tricked her to steal her child, and then his men had betrayed and killed him. 

_An eye for an eye._

"They killed him, Val. But there is more you should know," Dolorous Edd said, the words clearly tasting rancid in his mouth.

Edd didn't get a chance to explain the rest, because the moment Val looked up, she saw Ghost walk away from the training yard, with a dark figure that she knew well.

"You said he was dead!"

"He _was_ ," Edd continued. "But, he was brought back."

Val unsheathed her blade immediately, but Edd set his hand on her wrist.

"No, Val! He's not like _them_."

"Swear he's not a wight!"

"He's not. I swear. Not like the wights the others make."

"What is he then?" she asked, and she could see the same question in Tormund's eyes.

"He is… _something different_."

"Who did it?" she asked instead.

"Lady Melisandre."

"He's still a _monster_ then."

* * *

Arya knew what it felt like to be kissed by blades. 

She got enough of their licks during her training in Braavos, along with the hard blows from staffs, and strong fists hardened by centuries. Throughout her life, Arya had enough cuts, ones that bled and scabbed on their own, and ones that she had learned to close with the same crooked stitches that Septa Mordane deemed could only have been made by the hands of a blacksmith.

If only Septa Mordane had known that her crooked stitches would keep her alive, and it mattered not that they were not dainty enough to form blue winter roses like Sansa's meticulous stitching did.

Still, she had not been stabbed in the way Jon had with hardened blows that reached her heart. 

_Not literally_ , at least. 

Yet, the moment her brother turned towards her, and he finally spoke her name, letting her know that at least he knew who she was, felt deeper than any wound she had ever received. Arya felt like a knife had burrowed into her heart, just like it happened to Jon, and blood had poured freely, staining the pristine snow once more. 

After three days of silence, there was a relief to have Jon speaking again, and it made Arya wonder how he had not uttered one single word until Ghost was back.

The relief was short-lived, though. 

Arya could see a flicker of her old brother in his eyes from time to time, but his words were still sparse, and despite all the questions from the black brothers, all the words Jon spoke per day could be easily counted with one hand. Despite the guidance the men of the Night's Watch needed, from their Lord Commander, then more than ever, he had shared nothing. Dolorous Edd had been the _de facto_ Lord Commander, acting in Jon's name, but it was crystal clear that her brother needed to assume his position soon or risk another chasm among the remaining men of the Night's Watch.

Arya knew she ought to feel grateful, as the majority of Jon's counted words were for her, but the way he looked her way was as one would look back to old memories, those that are as faint as the dreams you cannot fully remember when you wake. 

Still, she spent her days with her brother, sometimes recounting their history, and some others, just being there, with him, silently waiting for her old brother to come back. 

Every night she'd make her way to her husband, to purge the sorrow on his flesh. She craved the way he could kiss the grief painstakingly away, even if just for a short time. She would always let herself be lulled into a dreamless sleep, peaceful as a crypt as he held her in his arms. And only, halfway to her slumber, she'd realize that no words were spoken between them, mayhaps as Jon's silence had infected her. 

* * *

When Arya came into their room, she saw Gendry in bed, with his back to her, and the peaceful movement of his breathing let her know that he had already fallen asleep. After undressing, she climbed under the covers and embraced him. She played with the hair on his chest while one of her legs found its way between his.

The hard-pebbled tips of her teats woke Gendry up, along with loving bites to his shoulder blades. Arya heard him groan as he turned towards her, but before he could do a complete rotation, she was already climbing on top and seeking his lips. 

Gendry gave himself just a moment to enjoy her warm mouth while his brain roused enough to think clearly and do what he knew had to be done. After a playful nip to her lower lip, he captured her wrists and lifted them from his chest until their arms were extended over their heads. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, searing her with a cold blue shade in his eyes.

"I thought it was obvious," Arya replied, before rubbing her bare body against him. 

"Oh, it is _quite_ obvious," Gendry countered, feeling the way her pelvis swayed against him, and he pushed back to make his point, eliciting a sigh from his wife. 

"I missed you," he said, watching her eyes roll back, already losing herself into some unreachable place where he could not follow.

"I'm here." 

"It's not enough," he replied, and his words echoed in his mind the moment when she said the exact same thing a few nights before. 

Though she didn't move away, she could not avoid wincing. Her eyes stared at her husband, looking for something, as a wary animal weighing its next careful movement.

"What do you mean then?"

"When did we become these strangers who _just_ share a bed?"

His words felt like a slap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arya said, moving off of him and lying down on her back. "You have me every night."

Gendry lay on his side, and with one hand on her hip, he made her turn to face him.

"No! _You_ have _me_ every night, Arya, but you're not here, not really."

Arya sat up, raising her knees so she could hug her legs in front of her, and the defensive gesture was not lost on Gendry.

"What else do you want, then?"

"What else do _I_ want?" He shook his head, and he sat up himself, with his back on the cold wall. 

"I'm a _greedy bastard,_ " he replied, and after a huff, he turned to her to say, "I want your body, yes, but I want your thoughts, and I want your heart."

They both stared for a few moments, their chests heaving. Gendry saw her swallow and look away.

"You _are_ a greedy bastard," she finally said, avoiding his eyes.

Gendry's jaw tightened, and he turned away, letting his feet set on the floor.

He needed to hit something.

Arya kneeled on the bed, wrapping her arms around him, from the back, and with her lips on his jaw, right under his ear, she said, "You have all those things _already_."

Gendry reached back with his arm to cradle Arya's head and keep her against him for a few moments, before pulling her to his front, making her straddle him. 

"How come it doesn't feel like it?"

A tear escaped her eye before she was able to force it to stay inside. By the time her hand came up to her face, Gendry had already captured it with his lips. 

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he said after setting his forehead on hers.

"I didn't mean to push you away. It's just… I need…"

Arya felt herself as blind as when she was Beth, walking around disoriented and falling with every step onto jagged cobblestones. 

"I won't go anywhere," Gendry reassured her, with a trail of soft kisses on her lips and her cheeks, and then he pulled away to make a point. "But I just want you to understand that I want more than this. I _need_ more than this. I need _you._ "

"I understand," she said, getting off his lap and lying down on the bed.

Gendry lay down next to her, supporting himself on his side, and placing his hand on her waist.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought you didn't want me."

"I'll always want you. Just talk to me. Don't hide away your thoughts." 

That was all she needed to hear before coming close and burying her face on his chest as he enfolded her in his arms. He ran his fingers through her hair while she shed quiet tears over his skin. 

* * *

"Jon is not himself anymore," Arya said after a while, and only once she felt safe and calm in Gendry's arms. 

"I know," he added, rubbing her back and placing soft kisses on her temple.

"I need him back as he was before."

"But it can't be."

Arya looked up at him, anger and confusion in her eyes.

Gendry's lips pulled into a soft smile, and his thumb brushed against her jaw, while he knew he was about to say the words she did not want to hear.

"Suffering is meant to change you."

Her big grey eyes were getting wet again.

"My hands, my arms, my back, my chest," he continued. "They show every cut, scrape, and burn."

Gendry then moved his hand to her side, to the silvery trails that adorned her.

"Your scars," he said as he traced them reverently, "I still don't know how you got them all, but when you are bare in my arms, and I get to see them, touch them and kiss them, I know that despite it all, they made you into who you are."

Arya's sob interrupted the point he was making, and he took a moment to kiss her and nuzzle her nose.

"Sorrow and loss shape us," he continued, and he had to avoid her eyes to say what came next, "all those years ago, I failed you, and you bear those scars as well."

Arya pulled his chin up, so he could see into her eyes.

"Did I mark you as well?"

Gendry smiled, "I doubt the Gendry _before you_ would have ever chosen to stay at that inn and protect all those orphans."

His unexpected words quietly made her chuckle, and the sound warmed him better than the fire, and the furs could. 

"I'm not sure Jon knows me anymore," she said after a pause.

"You have to give him time."

Only then Arya was brave enough to say the words that had been tormenting her.

"What if he becomes like _her_?"

Gendry didn't need Arya to elaborate to know who she was referring to, but she still said it, "Lady Stoneheart. _My mother_."

Gendry shook his head. 

"No, it's not the same. She was not your mother anymore, not truly."

"There is only anger in him."

"He was betrayed by his own men, his brothers. You have to give him time."

"But what if it is not enough? What if he doesn't love me anymore?" she sobbed.

"If he forgot part of who he was, he will get to know you again, but there is no way he won't love you anymore. You, Arya Stark, are a force of nature, and it is impossible not to love you."

Gendry felt his heart beating fast and erratically, knowing he was saying more than just reassuring Arya that her favorite brother would love her again. As Arya set her head on his chest, he wondered if she could listen, as she fell asleep, all the fears hidden in his heartbeat. 

* * *

The stirring against him roused Gendry. He did not open his eyes, already used to Arya leaving him before the sun was out. She twisted in his arms, extricating herself carefully from his embrace before rising from the bed. He forced his eyes to stay closed, and he stifled a groan, but he felt his jaw tense, knowing she was about to leave again.

Gendry concentrated, keeping his breathing even as he could hear the old wooden floors' creaking under her soft steps. Arya used the chamber pot to relieve herself as quietly as she could, and then, he heard her washing with a rag and water from their basin. But then, instead of the sounds of her dressing in the dark and putting on her boots before leaving, as she had done all the previous mornings before the sun was fully out, he felt their mattress give once more, and then her soft bare skin, colder than before, found her place back in his stubborn arms.

"Arya?" he asked, confused.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I tried to be quiet."

"It's not that," he replied, clearing his throat after. "I thought you were getting ready to leave."

Arya pulled herself up a bit over his chest so Gendry could see her clearly as she shook her head.

"No, not going anywhere."

" _Ever_?" he said, trying to tease her, letting a tentative smile spread on his lips that spoke far more than he intended to admit.

"I'm sorry I pulled away from you, and only came to you for… _you know._ "

Gendry chuckled, making her swat at him.

"Sorry, it's just that I've never known you to shy away from saying _fucking_."

Gendry was sure she would hit him and call him stupid for mocking her, but he was surprised when she had to look down, and her cheeks looked flushed in the early morning light.

"It's not that. Not _just that_ , between us, is it?" Arya spoke, and after she asked the question, she looked up to see his reaction.

Gendry shook his head, and he was sure Arya could read the reply in his eyes.

They stared at each other for a long while before he leaned in for a kiss. 

While Gendry could still count on his fingers the times he had coupled with his wife, there was something in the way they moved around each other, and in what their eyes said without words, that made them seem like old lovers. That morning, as he loved Arya, in the soft dawn light, despite the bittersweetness of the moment, with her face still showing the traces of her grief, there was a hint of a smile, in the way the corners of her mouth seemed to curl a bit upwards. Gendry wanted to keep her smiling, stoke her fires with sweet nothings whispered in her ear as they made love together, which prompted Arya to paint crimson messages on his back.

There was much doubt still in each one, but at least, at the start of that new day, they were together, and nothing was keeping them apart. 

* * *

Jon woke up startled as he did every time since his forceful resurrection. He had been running in Ghost, chasing prey, when something threw him into his other body, back in the chambers that still held the memory of choking on air. He planted his feet on the cold wood floor, and again, it felt wrong, and he wished it was snow he was standing on. 

" _Snow, snow, snow!_ " Mormont's raven cawed unprompted.

"Quiet!" Jon yelled to the bird. 

How old was the raven? Jon pondered. He had forgotten about the animal, and he wondered if anyone had bothered to feed it while he had been dead. The Old Bear did not seem the type to be fond of such a creature, but Jon had surmised that just like everything in his solar, it was something else that had been passed down from one lord commander to the next, and only the gods knew precisely how many generations had gone by. 

_'I could ask Maester Aemon,'_ an errant thought perched at the front of his mind. 

_'No, he is gone,_ ' his mind responded itself in his thoughts.

Where had those thoughts come from? After days of being a blank slate, bits started to cloud his head, all jagged little pieces that did not fit with one another. He wanted to slip back under Ghost's fur, where the borders between thought and action were almost completely blurred instead.

_'If only Arya and I had mastered warging on command.'_

There it was, again, a rogue thought from the dead boy he used to be. 

The man groaned and lay down in front of the fire, closing his eyes and concentrating on bright red blood spilled upon fresh snow. He felt the pull, and he let himself go. 

_Warm blood was spilling from his mouth._

But the red of his second life turned into soft red hair, and his nose buried in it. Red no longer smelled of copper, but instead, of the woods' scent and the sweat of fucking over furs inside a dark cave. 

* * *

Rickon was surprised when Ser Davos informed him and his mother that they had arrived. The place was nothing like he imagined. The name _'Castle Black'_ had been deceiving, as Rickon had expected a fortified building, with a surrounding wall made of stone and a watchtower. He suspected it was the bits and pieces he remembered from his old home, or he thought he remembered, as he couldn't tell memories from dreams anymore: the warm stone walls and the long halls. The place they called Castle Black was no castle at all, just a few different buildings spread out by the ice wall that had impressed him so, the moment he saw it when they docked at Eastwatch. 

They were dismounting when Shaggy Dog took off abruptly, looking for something. Rickon ran behind him, elbowing his way through the free folk, and the men clad all in black. He stopped at once when he saw Shaggy in front of another direwolf, its fur was completely white, and its eyes shone like red hot embers. The white direwolf was slightly smaller than his, but Rickon noticed that Shaggy Dog didn't try to assert his superiority. Both beasts stared at each other for a while, and then they sniffed around as they got closer, recognizing each other. 

It was then that Rickon noticed a man behind the white direwolf, looking away from him. He could only see the back of his head, the dark hair tied behind halfway. As the man started turning, the sun obscured his features, making him look otherworldly. The only thing Rickon was able to see was the glinting of his sword as the rays of the sun hit it, and a water pattern on the blade made it look like the light danced on its surface.

"Father…," the word poured as easily as water seemed to move on the weapon. 

The word tasted foreign, and when the man was finally facing him, his grey eyes, under the still reddish gash on his eyebrow, were vacant, looking through him as he didn't exist. The man was not the mirage that had prompted the now bitter-tasting word on his tongue, but someone else. He felt all at once, as familiar and as strange as the Faith of the Seven in the south.

"Ghost," the man in black said, turning back and walking away with the white direwolf in his trail, enraging Rickon, without really knowing why.

"Rickon," a soft voice called, and turning, he saw her, a young girl, a lot shorter than him and his mother. Images flooded his mind, same face, muddy, and laughing, but that girl looked like it had been long since she had laughed last.

"Rickon," she said once more, getting closer, when he didn't reply, still seething. "It's me. It's Arya. Do you remember me?"

_'Arya.'_

Davos had said it was her who sent for him. The one who ordered him to go and find him at Skagos, to pluck him out of his life at the end of the world after a lifetime of no one caring enough to claim him. 

" _Should I?_ How long has it been, _sister_?"

Another bitter word that made his mouth water.

"Too long," she replied, keeping herself at arms-length. 

Rickon could tell that his tone had hit his mark. 

"Aye, too long. And now you _suddenly_ care about me."

"I've always cared."

"You still left," he said, letting his temper get the best of him, and raising his arms. "You all left me."

Across the yard, at the forge entrance, Gendry had taken notice of the scene, and he started approaching.

"I didn't know I wasn't going to come back," Arya replied solemnly. "None of us did."

"Mother left! And then, Robb!"

"Boy," Osha intervened. "She couldn't have done anything back then. She was younger than you are now."

"I don't care!" Rickon exclaimed. "Do you want to know what I remember? I remember being in the dark for days and having to be quiet."

"In the crypts, we hid there," Osha explained.

"I remember finding the bleeding man by the tree."

"The old maester," Osha added.

Arya swallowed a lump in her throat, picturing her brother's memories. 

"I remember being tired and hungry and cold."

"I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, I thought you were dead."

"Well, I should have stayed dead _for you_. I was doing well enough alone."

Rickon could see unshed tears in the eyes of the woman that was supposed to be his sister. He knew his temper, as he often lashed out, particularly with those he cared about. It had been Osha in particular through his life, but the woman who had raised him never held a grudge. Part of him wanted to feel bad for taking out all his fury in the sister who had sent for him and making her pay for the indifference of the man he suspected had to be one of his brothers. 

After blinking her tears away, Arya spoke with a steady voice, "The lone wolf dies."

Rickon laughed with disdain. 

"Does _he_ know that?" He said, moving his head in the direction in which Jon left. 

"I think he might understand that _now_ more than ever."

"Why?"

"Because he has already died."

* * *

Arya saw her young brother's jaw tightening, and when he couldn't find what else to say, he walked away, leaving her alone. It wasn't for long, as Gendry was soon next to her, setting his hand on her cheek, examining her eyes, just trying to find a trace of hurt so he could yell at the boy who had brought more tears to his wife's eyes. 

Arya shook her head and reassured him, "I am fine; it was nothing."

"Was that your brother?" Gendry asked, moving his head in the direction in which the man and woman who arrived with Davos left.

"That's Rickon, alright."

Gendry stared a bit longer, to the mop of auburn hair bouncing around with furious steps. 

"He looks nothing like you or Jon."

"He has the Tully look."

"Like your uncle Edmure. I can see that."

"And Little Cat."

Arya hadn't thought of her niece in a long time, and the reopened wound in her chest wondered if her little brother would have reacted differently if he had been able to see himself in Edmure and Cat. 

And the Blackfish.

Yes, mayhaps he would have seen a glimmer of a kindred spirit in their Uncle Brynden. 

"Arry," Gendry called her, surprising her out of her musings with the seldom-used nickname.

She didn't have to ask to have him engulf her in his arms. 

Placing his chin on the top of her head, he spoke, "He'll come around, you'll see."

"I only wanted our pack together, and they're here, but we couldn't be further apart."

"Give them time. Your pack will come to you. I promise," Gendry said, and he sealed his promise with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am looking forward to reading what your reactions to this chapter are since there was a lot of emotion. In particular, I wonder what you think of post-resurrection Jon, this is just the tip of the iceberg, but I've been putting a lot of thought on how the train of thought of someone who died and was brought back the way he was would be. 
> 
> Thank you all once more, cheers!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon has meaningful conversations with Gendry and Arya. Stannis returns from the Northern mountain clans to news of what happened in his absence and he demands answers from Melisandre. Jon is tired, and yet everyone needs something from him. A pale horse arrives with a grey girl and a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this one was far easier to get ready than the previous two. 
> 
> I'm glad I was able to get it ready a week earlier than I expected.

[ ](https://imgur.com/e3ExUmQ)

"You are my sister's husband."

Gendry was about to let his hammer fall hard on the anvil when the voice broke his concentration and forced him to abort the movement. He looked up from his work to see the young man staring at him at the forge entrance. 

"Aye. And you are the prick who made my wife cry," he replied without missing a beat. 

At least the kid had felt compelled to look down, showing his regret, even if he did it with a noticeable pout.

"I know life has dealt you a shit hand since you were very young, but you are not the only one."

After that, the kid looked up, knitting his eyebrows, and their expressiveness made Gendry see a hint of Arya in him. 

"You?" Rickon asked.

Gendry chuckled, which did nothing to appease the growing annoyance of Arya's brother.

"Aye, but I wasn't talking about me. Arya saw your father's execution before Yoren found her. He was a recruiter for the Night's Watch, and he cut her hair to make her pass for a boy. He was going to bring her North to Winterfell. All she wanted was to get back to her family,  _ to you _ . That's where I met her. Can you imagine a young girl among men heading here to the Wall? You Northerners may think it's honorable to take the black, but do you have any idea who gets recruited into the Night's Watch in King's Landing?"

Rickon shook his head.

" _ Murderers and rapers _ ," Gendry replied with an exhale, "and men who would not have thought twice to hurt her before selling back her to the Lannisters."

"You were one of them?"

Gendry shook his head. 

"I was an armorer's apprentice before I was sold to the Night's Watch. I thought I was good and that master Mott was proud of my work, but he exchanged me for a bag of gold. I'll admit that I was very angry for a very long time during our journey, but no, I wasn't going to betray her."

"What happened to her after?"

"That's Arya's story to tell," Gendry explained. "Part of it is mine as well, that's what I've told you, but the rest is only for her to share. If you try talking to her, instead of just yelling, you may find out that you have a lot in common."

The young boy flared his nostrils, and his jaw tensed, but he nodded. 

Neither men spoke for a while, and to ease his growing discomfort, Gendry went back to his work, watching, out of the corner of his eye as Rickon perused the tools in the smithy.

"So you're a smith then?"

"Aye," Gendry replied without turning.

"That explains it. I wondered why a king's heir would be making horseshoes."

Gendry laughed once more before turning to face his good brother.

"Not just a smith, a lowborn bastard to boot. My dear Uncle Stannis only legitimized me because I was useful to his ambitions."

Rickon seemed to ponder on Gendry's reply for a while, and then he added, "Why did you agree to it then? If it had been me, I would have told him to bugger off."

Gendry huffed, and then he said, "For your sister. I did it to help her get her family and home back since I failed her all those years ago."

Rickon only nodded, and he looked around the smithy. After a while, he spoke again, "Do you make anything besides horseshoes and hinges?"

Gendry smiled. 

"I made armor and a sword for your sister. Do you like blades?" He said, looking at the one Rickon had strapped to his leg. "Let me see that dagger of yours."

Rickon handed it to him, and Gendry studied it, moving it on his hands with reverence and testing its weight. The blade was razor-sharp, and the dark glass glimmered with the light from the forge fires.

"This is not metal, what is it?"

"Dragonglass. The Skagosi don't forge metal."

Gendry looked up to see Rickon, and he couldn't contain his interest.

"How is it crafter, then?"

"You must strike it with a stone in the right angle to make it flake. That's the only way to work dragonglass. It's the same approach for making stone tools."

"How do you prevent it from breaking?"

"It takes years to master, to hit it just right, but it's worth it. Dragonglass is strong, and it keeps a very sharp edge."

"It's a sharp edge for sure," Gendry said, handing it back. "I don't know about dragonglass, but if you want, I could make you one of metal. I have a bit of iron ore that I can work with."

"Would you?" Rickon asked as his eyes lit up.

"I can see you are more like your sister than meets the eye. Her eyes glint like that when I tell her I'll make her a new weapon."

"I guess we are siblings, after all."

"Aye. You should talk to Arya about it."

"How do you forge blades? Can I watch?"

"Your sister also likes to watch, but she has never asked to learn how to make them. If you want, I can show you, and you could help me make the daggers."

"Daggers?"

"Yes, I reckon I should make a set of matching daggers for all you Starks. I think Arya would like that, don't you? And you could teach me about this way of making tools of stone and dragonglass."

Rickon nodded with a broad smile, acting his true age for the first time since Gendry had met him.

* * *

Jon was tired.

He had somewhat managed to tune out those in his solar, bickering and demanding answers from him. Still, in almost an hour since they had been there, he had managed only a handful of monosyllabic answers and a few grunts, but it was getting harder to keep their squabbling off his mind.

"Answer me, Jon! Where is Mance's child?"

_ 'Safe, safe, safe,'  _ the raven cawed.

"I've already told you," Edd intervened. "He's out of harm's way, with Maester Aemon, Sam, Gilly and-"

"The  _ monster _ ," Val interrupted him.

"Alive and fed," Jon spoke. 

"You had no right! You better pray she takes good care of him and brings him before Mance is back, or you will wish you stayed dead."

"Do not threaten my brother!" Arya challenged Val.

"He tricked me so he could steal my child! I was sent to fetch Tormund because your brother wanted to speak terms, but it was just a lie."

_ 'Burn, burn, burn!'  _

"So you did not want to talk terms with me at all, did you, Little Crow? Who should I negotiate with then if you are not willing to act as Lord Commander?!"

"Oh, shut up, Tormund!" Dolorous Edd exclaimed. "What terms do you need to negotiate? Your people need the shelter of Castle Black to escape from the Others. What is there to talk about? You do not have a bargain to propose. The only thing you need to do is ask nicely for us to let your people in."

"I have a bargain for you, Crow," Tormund replied. "It's big and sharp."

Jon remembered nothing about what came after his death, just as he could not remember his birth. He suspected it had been a hot and sticky affair, but in all his memories of his previous life, he had no reference for the kind of heat that the maesters described when they talked about Dorne. 

There was only one thing that Jon felt.

_ 'Dead, dead, dead,'  _ the raven stole the words from his mind.

"Can we talk about what's important?" Arya chimed in. "We need to deal with the traitors, and soon."

"Your sister is right, Jon," Edd agreed. "The men are restless, and I am told that Thorne spews vile words about you and your leadership to whoever happens to go to the ice cells to guard or bring them food."

"You should have let me deal with them," Arya added.

"They are traitors, and murderers, and kinslayers, since they killed their brother, yes, but they are still men of the Night's Watch, and they will be dealt the justice of the Night's Watch."

"You are acting Lord Commander, deal with it then," Arya pressed.

"No, Jon is Lord Commander, and he is well enough to take his rightful place, aren't you, Jon?" Edd asked, hopefully.

_ 'Wolf, wolf, wolf.' _

"Can someone shut that bird up, or I swear I will have him for supper."

Edd turned to Tormund and spoke, "That raven has been here longer than you have been alive. Fuck! I bet your grandfather wasn't born yet when this raven was, and I'm sorry to tell you, Tormund, but it will remain still when you are long gone."

"You fucking crows!"

"Leave," Jon spoke. "All of you leave. Tormund, get your people this side of the Wall before it is too late. I am done."

_ 'Done, done, done!' _ The raven cawed once more, and more than one in the Lord Commander's solar could have sworn the bird laughed.

* * *

Gendry knew Nymeria was close a few days before she arrived. 

He knew enough about his wife's wolf life from observing her as she slept. Her movements, sometimes furtive and sometimes desperate, told a story he had learned to read. The nights that Arya hunted in her wolf skin, she always woke up unsated, as if the prey that stained Nymeria's fur crimson and filled her belly disintegrated the moment that Arya opened her eyes, leaving her hungry for flesh, in more ways than one. There was always something wild in her eyes after her wolf dreams, and desire seemed to prickle under her skin. 

Gendry had also missed Nymeria.

Though, he knew that as the direwolf ran from White Harbor to Castle Black, Arya traversed the North in her dreams, and she had eyes in her home as she passed through the lands that were stolen by the treacherous Boltons. 

After Jon was killed and then brought back, Arya's nights had gone from a peaceful respite in her grief to unsettled. All he could do was hold her in his arms and place soft kisses on her naked shoulder, trying to make his warmth go past their bodies and reach her, all the way down to wherever it was that she ran free, hunting and trailing her enemies. 

It was no surprise when his wife woke up startled at dawn and announced that Nymeria was back. Arya rushed, getting dressed, and ran out the door. Still, he barely had enough time to put on his clothes and boots before chasing after her. 

By the time he made it to the yard, three direwolves were already there, with a Stark behind each one. It was quite a sight. Most men and women would never get to witness one direwolf in close proximity, let alone three. They were majestic beasts, and despite how familiar Gendry and Nym were, it was hard not to think that if they suddenly decided they were hungry for the flesh of men, no one at Castle Black would have enough time to save themselves. 

Black, white, and grey approached each other warily and sniffed the air trying to sort through the stench of men and women until they found the familiar scent of their memories. 

It was not lost on Gendry, the look shared by the three siblings. They did not touch each other, nor they shared any words, but there was no question that they were a pack.

Gendry watched them until it felt like he was intruding in something that did not belong to him, and so he turned around and left in the direction of the smithy, but somehow his steps seemed lighter than they've been for a long while. 

* * *

Stannis never thought he'd be pleased to return to Castle Black, but the moment he made it to Brandon's Gift, and he was able to see it and the Wall ahead, he felt relief. He had not enjoyed his time with the Northern mountain clans, as he felt in the dark without the reassurance that Melisandre's visions brought him.

Stannis had to give credit to the young Lord Commander. Despite his foolishness of choosing to remain with the Night's Watch instead of taking Stannis on his promise of giving him his father's name, a household, and a comely wife, his advice to seek out the Northern clansmen had been right.

The king was making his way back to Castle Black with fifteen hundred men more than when he left. The mountain men were convinced by the promise to rid them of the ironborn once and for all, but mostly because they believed Stannis claim was supported by the real Arya Stark, daughter of  _ 'the Ned,' _ and the large direwolf that had accompanied him was proof of it. Just as his good niece had told him, her direwolf had found him as he went to plead his case with the hardy men that inhabited the treacherous hills of the North. 

Stannis had eaten their bread and salt and drank their ale, as Jon had advised him, and they had seemed to like it. Those men and women were as hard as the rocky places where they lived, and they liked a king that was as austere in his words as they were, and who came to them as an equal.

Stannis was thankful that they had agreed to join his cause just in time since the direwolf bitch had left him one night, after she howled abruptly where she stood, and ran away immediately. 

"Your Grace," his lord hand greeted him as he arrived at Castle Black. "I can see by the men following you that you were successful."

"I was, though, I do not know how well fifteen hundred men armed with rocks and covered in leaves will fight."

"I've heard from the black brothers that the Northern clansmen are resilient and skilled warriors, despite how…  _ unsophisticated _ they might be, by Southern standards."

"Compared to the wildings here, I do not see much difference, to be honest."

"Yet, it may be the difference that helps you save the realm and take your throne if you don't mind me saying it, Your Grace."

Stannis pursed his lips, and after a tense moment, he smiled and said, "There is always wisdom in your words, Davos, despite their simplicity. I am glad to have you once more on my side. Now, where is Lord Commander Snow? There is much we need to discuss."

"Your Grace, I am afraid there is bad news I need to break to you."

"Were you successful in your mission, Davos? It can have gone that badly since you are here. I assume you brought the lost Stark boy with you. How is this Stark lordling? Being brought up by the Skagosi, I suspect he must look more wildling than highborn."

"A wild wolf, indeed, Your Grace. He has the Tully look, and though rough around the ages, there is no doubt he shares the blood of Lord Edmure. Yet, those are not the news I wish to talk to you about."

Davos' reticence didn't sit well with the king.

"What is it?"

"Jon Snow, the Lord Commander. There was a mutiny among the men of the Night's Watch."

Stannis looked around and noticed that everything looked as it had been when he left, with wildlings and black brothers among his own men. 

"They dared turn on their own Lord Commander?" the king asked, with a hint of surprise in his voice, as he unfastened the steel pauldrons and gorget, remaining in his boiled leather and mail.

"In the name of the Night's Watch, it appears, a group of six or so," Davos added, as he took the steel pieces from the king.

"Everything seems as it was when I left."

"The men of the Night's Watch that are still loyal to Jon got it under control, with the aid of some wildlings. The surviving perpetrators are still in the ice cells until the Night Watch decides what to do with them."

"I am king," Stannis intervened. "I should be the one to pass sentence."

"The Night's Watch allows no outside intervention. Your good niece, as you can imagine, was eager to dispense justice herself."

Stannis looked around, but he could not see anything suspicious that justified his hand's uneasiness.

"Her brother, did he survive the attack?"

"No, he did not."

Stannis huffed, as he shook his head. He had been right about the foolishness of the young Lord Commander, but despite that, he had to admit that he was a bit sorry for the lad's fate.

"I shall offer my condolences to my good niece then," he said, starting to walk away.

"Your Grace, that's not all."

Stannis turned around and noticed the look on Davos' face.

"Were there any more deaths? My nephew or his wife?" 

He knew the queen's men would have protected Shireen and Selyse, but Arya and Gendry were foolish enough to get themselves mixed in the Night's Watch inner turmoil.

"They are well, Your Grace. Besides the traitors killed, there were no other deaths."

"Then, what is it, Davos? Jon Snow is dead, what could have you this shaken?"

"That's the thing, Jon Snow is not dead."

Stannis stared at Davos for a few moments, one of his eyebrows asking the question.

"He was brought back."

"Like those things the wildlings were fleeing? The Others?"

"No, Your Grace. Jon Snow may not be exactly as you recall him, but he is not one of those monsters. He was brought back."

"How?"

The old sailor let out a long breath, and then he said, "By Lady Melisandre, it seems."

"Take me to her at once."

* * *

Melisandre was praying with her hands hovering over the flames in a copper bowl on the table in her chamber when she heard the door open and close. Despite that and the determined steps approaching her, she didn't veer from her praying.

"I've been told you brought the young Lord Commander back to life," the king spoke, making her litany stumble for a moment, but taking a breath, she continued.

"It was not me," she said, still with eyes closed, confusing Stannis for a second.

Only after bringing her hands to set on her face and letting their heat anoint her, she turned towards her king and added, "It was R'hllor, he wasn't done with him."

"What does it mean for our plans, for what we knew was to come?"

_ 'Nothing… everything…?'  _

Melisandre turned her eyes back on the flames trying to find the right words for her king. 

She knew that R'hllor had blessed Stannis in the past and allowed him to see his fate in the nightfires a handful of times. So, Melisandre wasn't sure, right then, if she kept her eyes on the fires trying to find an answer, or if she was avoiding her king reading her doubt in the dancing flames of her eyes. 

She could no longer hide her doubt. Her god had chosen to bring back Jon Snow, and the man kept appearing in her visions, while the sign of the crowned stag that had been constant in the nightfires refused to come back.

"Is there something you are not telling me?" Stannis pressed on, forcing her eyes to say on him by holding on to her chin.

"No, My King," she finally replied, keeping her eyes down, in pretend submission. 

"Has R'hllor changed his mind? How will bringing Jon Snow back to life fit in his designs."

As the visions failed her, she reminded herself, once more, that she had to have faith. After all, that's what the word meant, believing without proof.

"The Lord of Light chose you," Melisandre replied, with renewed effort, though she was unsure if it was to convince Stannis or herself.

"Nothing happens without him willing it, and Jon Snow's death has brought something to your quest."

"What is it?" the king inquired.

Melisandre didn't reply, but instead, walked to a trunk from where she retrieved a glass bottle. The king could not make out its contents until she was close enough to thrust the vial into his hands, and he could see its dark contents. 

"What is this?" he asked, already knowing the answer but needing her reassurance.

"The blood of kings and the First Men," she replied solemnly." The Lord Commander bled out on the snow and the table in his solar. I collected as much as I could."

"Will it be enough?" The king asked, and in his blue eyes, the red woman saw her own doubt reflected.

"It's all part of the one true God's plan," she explained." But just in case, I have another way."

"What?" the king inquired once more.

"A promise."

* * *

Arya had been doing her water dance early one morning when the training yard was almost empty. She felt the movement flow through her limbs without the need for conscious thought. It was as if the Braavos sea waves moved her body. Her eyes were closed, and Fang felt like a part of her own arm. 

"You have a debt to pay." 

The almost singsong voice broke her trance, and Arya turned around to find Melisandre standing behind her. 

There it was, out in the open, the fears that had lurked on the corner of her mind.

A deal made in grief. 

"I wondered when you'd come to collect."

The witch kept her hands clasped together and resting on the crimson velvet of her skirts.

"The Lord of Light granted you your wish."

Arya huffed.

So many nights, she had fallen asleep to her prayer for death, but that dreadful night, she had stayed awake, praying under her breath to any god that would listen to blow life into her brother's mouth.

"That night, I prayed to every god I've known, from the old to the new. I made promises to the Black Goat of Qohor and the Drowned God of the ironborn. I repeated the words my septa taught me to say to the Seven and the ones the whores of Braavos use to invoke the many gods beyond the Narrow Sea. No god ever responded to me before."

"False gods, all of them."

"All but one," Arya uttered the words, with the same elegance of the water dance.

Melisandre let a feline smile bloom on her face, "The Lord of Light."

"No," Arya replied, shaking her head, "not your red god."

"Who then?"

"The God of Death."

Arya saw the red woman shudder for a moment and eye her warily. 

"I did not know you were a follower of he of the many faces."

"There is a lot of me that you do not know, Lady Melisandre," she said, turning and walking away from her.

"True," she said loud enough for Arya to hear her. "Still, a promise to the Lord of Light must be paid back."

Arya stopped for a moment, but she didn't turn to face her. 

* * *

Gendry had seen the exchange between Arya and the red woman when he came out of the forge to pour out a water bucket. He had not witnessed the start of their conversation, but he had heard Melisandre's threat as Arya walked away in the opposite direction. A part of him had wanted to chase after her, but he felt like Arya would come to him when she was ready, and if not, he would ask when they went to bed. His willpower had not been enough to avoid mulling over the ominous words, though.

"You're working steel now?" His wife's voice pulled him away from his work when the sun was already high in the sky.

"Aye. I have a special project I'm working on."

"I like when you work steel, it sounds different."

Gendry chuckled, continuing to work, but looking at Arya out of the corner of his eye with a sly smile, "You  _ like the blades I make _ ."

"I do like the blades you make  _ for me _ , that doesn't stop me from enjoying the sounds when you make the steel sing."

"I'm glad you do," he said, turning and leaving his tools down, and after wiping his hands on his leather apron, he placed a quick peck on her forehead. 

"I must warn you, though," he said, gathering her into his arms. "This piece is not for you."

"You're courting another woman with swords and daggers, then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, and just a hint of jealousy that pleased Gendry more than he knew it should.

"No," he replied after a chuckle, "my woman who loves weapons is more than enough, but it turns out you are not the only Stark who likes my work."

Arya smiled and stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on his lips.

Gendry captured her there before she could escape, and he stood still, taking in her smile and rosy cheeks. 

"There is something I've meant to ask you," he finally said.

"Well, what are you waiting for, stupid?"

Gendry let go of her and rubbed the back of his head.

"It's about your tea," he said, looking away. "Are you still drinking it?"

Arya hugged him from behind and asked, "Is this the awkward way you're letting me know that you are scared I might be with child?"

Gendry let out a deep breath.

" _ Scared _ is the wrong word. But yes, that is my concern, I've been spilling inside of you… quite a lot."

Arya walked towards him and hugged him tightly. She rested her chin on his chest and tilted her head up so he could see her eyes as she spoke.

"I haven't missed one day."

"Good," he replied, but something inside him told him that word was wrong as well.

"I heard what the red woman told you earlier." 

"I've put us all in danger when I said I would do anything," she said, looking down.

"You did what you had to do; it was worth it."

"It won't be if the price is you, or  _ a child of ours _ ."

"I won't let her, you hear me? And I know my wife well enough to know she won't either."

Arya nodded.

Gendry noticed the pack Arya had left at the forge entrance that included a bow and quiver.

"Where are you going?"

"Southwest, hunting with Rickon. I need fresh air, and I thought it might be a good way to reconnect with my little brother."

"Be careful."

"I always am," she replied with one eyebrow raised.

"I know, but it won't stop me from saying it every time."

Gendry had meant only to give her a quick kiss pulling her closer to him by the waist and cradling the back of her head with his other hand. Still, Arya had returned it with such enthusiasm that the kiss had turned passionate, and when he started getting a crick on his neck from bending to reach her lips, he lifted her and set her on his workbench. 

"I thought you wanted to go hunting, not that you wanted me to see you  _ fuck _ your husband out in the open instead," Rickon's voice pulled them from their embrace, to see him standing at the forge entrance with Shaggy Dog behind him. 

"Fuck off, Rickon!" Arya replied as Gendry chuckled. 

"No,  _ dear good brother _ , I don't intend to fuck my wife  _ here _ ," Gendry said, and then added, to bother Arya's younger brother, "That's _ what our bed is for. _ "

Rickon's eyes rolled, and he turned around, "I'm going hunting. If you still want to come along, Arya, then you better get your ass moving."

"Alright, I got work to do, get going," he said, patting her bum softly, getting her off the bench.

After a quick peck, Gendry turned around to grab his tools once more, only to feel a hard slap on his ass.

Gendry turned around to see a mischievous smile on Arya's face.

"You'll pay for this later, Arry."

"Looking forward to it,  _ dear husband _ ," she said, twirling to follow her brother's steps.

* * *

The siblings walked side by side in silence for a long while, with Shaggy and Nymeria ahead of them, until they reached the heavily wooded area southwest of Castle Black. Rickon had feared that her newly-found sister would want to talk, but she had stayed quiet, and she even seemed comfortable with his silence. Once they started getting deeper in the forest, Rickon noticed that his sister's steps were as careful as his own, and for the second time, since he arrived at Castle Black, he wondered what life Arya had lived, and what had taught her to walk without being heard.

A nervous movement in the foliage distracted him from his thoughts. Arya turned with a finger on her mouth, speaking loads with just a gesture of her eyebrows and her eyes' movement. 

Rickon pulled the bow from his back and an arrow from his quiver, without making a sound. 

Their prey was startled by the direwolves, prompting it to flee in the opposite direction, and Rickon's arrow hit its mark cleanly, downing the doe with one shot. 

They both approached the wounded animal, and Arya kneeled by the head and ran her hand over the animal's neck and side, calming it before slicing its neck quickly. 

"You're good with a bow, who taught you?" Arya spoke, finally breaking the silence.

"My mother did," Rickon replied, without thinking, and noticing Arya flinching at his words, he corrected himself, " _ Osha _ ."

His instinct to correct himself bothered him, but Arya did not make any comment.

Rickon spoke then, trying to distract both of them of the implication of his words, "It's a good incentive when you rely on whatever you can hunt in Skagos."

"I'm pleased you had her when I was gone," Arya offered. "When we were  _ all gone _ ."

They sat against a tree and shared the waterskin between them. 

"Your husband, Gendry, he told me how you escaped King's Landing."

Arya grimaced at the memory.

"Did he tell you anything else?"

"He said it was your story to tell."

After a long while, Arya asked, "Do you have any questions for me?"

"Did you ever think about me?"

"I did. I was in the Riverlands when I learned Theon had taken Winterfell and killed you and Bran."

Arya extended her hand and set it on his arm before saying, "I am glad you are alive, and I hope Bran is as well."

Rickon stared at the hand for a moment, but he didn't pull his arm away from her.

"I hadn't thought of you, or any of the others for a very long time."

Arya was not sure if her brother's words were meant as a slight or a lament. 

"How was growing up in Skagos?"

"I don't really know anything else. It was good and bad, I guess. How was it for you to grow up in…"

"Winterfell, King's Landing, the Riverlands, Braavos? Take your pick."

"You were in all those places?"

"For so long, it just felt like I went around in circles, wanting to come back North, but never getting any closer."

They didn't speak for a while, only watching Nymeria and Shaggy run around like pups.

"Your husband is rude."

Rickon's words came out of nowhere, and they made Arya chuckle. Some of the water she was drinking spilled from her mouth, and she wiped it with the back of her hand.

" _ Tell me something I don't know _ ."

"He cares about you too."

Arya smiled and kept her eyes ahead, but Rickon could see the blush on her cheeks. 

"I'm also glad you had him when no one else was around."

"Me too," Arya replied, and she was surprised when her words came out as a sigh.

They stayed silent for a while longer, until Rickon said, "Is it true what the free folk say about Jon? That he came back to life?"

Arya nodded.

"I'm sorry he didn't know you. He forgot about me as well. He was so excited about meeting you before he was killed. Gendry says we have to give him time."

"I think I felt when it happened."

Rickon's words made her turn in his direction.

"You told Davos to ask me if I ever had wolf dreams."

"Do you?"

Rickon nodded.

"It took me a long while to figure out they were not just dreams," Arya explained. "Jon can warg too. I didn't even know that was the word for it until we reunited."

"Do you think we all could?"

"I don't know. Sansa's direwolf, Lady, was killed on our way to King's Landing. It was my fault for fighting with Prince Joffrey. Nym defended me, and the queen demanded the king kill her, but I made her leave by throwing rocks at her. The queen needed to kill a direwolf, and Lady had to pay the price. I hope one day we find Sansa and Bran, and we can ask them if they ever dreamed of wolves too."

Rickon stared ahead for a long moment without saying anything, and Arya wondered what thoughts went through that wild head of his. 

"How will we bring this back?" he finally asked, pointing towards the doe.

"Drag it behind us? I'm stronger than I look, you know?"

Rickon let out a belly laugh, and Arya swatted at him, but his genuine laughter warmed her inside despite his dig at her.

* * *

It was dusk already when Gendry was leaving the forge after hammering at metal until his muscles ached. Arya hadn't come to look for him, and he wondered if she was back from her hunt. He hoped she was waiting for him already in bed. 

Bare and wanting him would be even better. 

He was covered in sweat and soot, and for a moment, he wished they were back at White Harbor, where they could easily ask for a copper bathtub to be set in their rooms. It was not good that he had gotten used to finer things since it made the thought of washing with cold water from the basin in their frigid cell at Castle Black less than appealing. 

Though the thought of seeing if Arya minded him getting her pale skin dirty enticed Gendry. 

Gendry had been musing that when he heard the sound of a horse approaching, and as he came closer, he was able to see the two riders barely holding on to it, clearly in bad shape.

The moment the horse came to a stop, when Gendry held on to the reigns, the two people atop it fell on the snow. Gendry yelled for help and got on his knees to help them. Only then could he tell that it was a young woman and a gaunt man, his hair all white.

"Help her, please," the man pleaded.

"I got her," Gendry said, gathering her in his arms.

"Don't let him have me, please," the girl sobbed as her eyes rolled back. Her voice was so low that Gendry had to get his ear closer to make out the words. 

Raising his head, Gendry saw some black brothers coming his way, and he yelled for help once more for good measure.

"Save her," the white-haired man said again, and then he got up and attempted to walk away.

"Wait!" Gendry yelled, extending his arm to the man, trying to reach him, but unable to follow him, as he had the then unconscious woman in his arms. 

The man tried to escape, but he kept falling, as his legs seemed too weak to support him. 

"Wait! You need help!" Gendry yelled as the man kept half walking, half crawling on the snow.

The man did not listen to him, but he did stop when he ran into Arya and Rickon and their direwolves, who clearly left the raggedy man petrified. From where he was on the ground, he saw his wife stopping and letting go of the large animal she and her brother had been dragging. She stayed where she was for a moment and then walked towards the man with sure steps. He had managed to pull himself up, but all of a sudden, he let himself fall on his knees, and he bent forward, visibly shaking.

"You'll be fine!" Gendry yelled, trying to reassure him. "Nymeria won't harm you."

"She will," Arya disagreed, confusing Gendry and prompting the man to start sobbing. 

Gendry looked at his wife, trying to understand, but instead of looking at him, she had her eyes trained on the man on the ground.

"Theon," Rickon said, recognizing him. 

The man's sobs were now loud wails. 

It took Gendry a while to make out what he was saying until he moved his face, and the snow no longer muffled his voice.

"Reek! My name is Reek!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and in particular, thank you to the new silent readers, I hope you are enjoying the story.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is revealed about the man and woman who sought refuge at Castle Black, and they reveal the evil from which they escaped. The Night's Watch calls for a trial, and justice is finally dispensed. Melisandre attempts, once more, to collect on Arya's promise and makes a threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to get this one out earlier but at least it only took me two weeks. I will try to get the following ones closer to my one week schedule, but if all fails, at least rest assured that I should not take longer than a fortnight to post.

[ ](https://imgur.com/RqSE6oc)

Arya let her guard down as she walked back to Castle Black alongside Rickon, dragging the large body of the doe. As the sun set, and their faces darkened in the dim light, she liked seeing her brother's broad and toothy smile, one that she was sure she had plastered on her own face. Arya couldn't tell how the laughter had started, mayhaps it had been when Rickon tripped on a rock, making Arya snort, but then they chuckled all along. They had to stop with every new burst of laughter that prevented their hands from making fists, and the leg of the beast that each one of them was holding would slip from their grasp.

After the last fit of giggles, Arya looked ahead, to the billowing smoke from Castle Black, and her heart soared, thinking they were Gendry's fires. She let her mind wander, thinking that once they made it there and took their spoils to Hobb in the kitchens, she would bid her goodbyes to her little brother, mayhaps even with a warm hug, if he let her get that close. Arya would then make her way to the forge, with Rickon sneering at her, knowing full well where she was heading. She wouldn't even turn around, and instead, she would drag Gendry back to their rooms to call in his debt. A dull ache bloomed in her lower belly at the thought of them coupling in the smithy, with Gendry's skin still slick and stained with soot. Despite what Gendry had told her brother earlier, she learned, right then, that a part of her wished he'd changed his mind at some point, and she'd go to bed afterward with the trail of his hands all over her skin. 

It was that errant thought what distracted her. Only when she felt she was left bearing all the weight of the beast, she looked to the side and noticed her brother had stopped moving, and instead, he looked ahead, frozen in place, at the beggar man who stood before them. 

The man was dressed in rags, and the thinning hair on his head was completely white. His feeble legs didn't seem strong enough to keep him upright, and through his open mouth, Arya could see the empty spaces where once teeth had been. Despite the cold of the North, she could still smell a stench coming from him, one that Arya knew it was more than lack of washing and feces. No, the man had the sickly sweet smell of death itself. 

At first, Arya thought Rickon had stopped because of the man's terrible state, but it was more than that. Her brother, who towered over her, like a man grown despite his young age, looked more and more like the babe she had left behind in Winterfell when she journeyed south. It was Rickon's terrified eyes that had made her take another look at the man, his dark eyes standing up in the paleness of his waxy skin, and the lifeless white strands stuck on his face. There was something familiar in his eyes, a slick black ink she knew well, even if no longer bright.

The name had slipped out Rickon's lips at the same time as the word had come to the front of her mind and the tip of her tongue, tasting bitter.

_'Theon.'_

Arya had felt a murderous rage when she saw him trying to flee, but then, the way he couldn't stay upright due to the pitiful state of his body stopped her from taking her revenge. More than anything, two things had given her pause: Rickon's sudden paralysis, and the young woman in Gendry's arms, with her head, hung to the side, but her hand tightly fisted around Gendry's shirt, not letting go. Arya couldn't stop the sharp barb of jealousy digging at her side, seeing Gendry's arms around another, even when she knew it was completely innocent.

Arya pushed the feeling down, forcing herself to care for her brother first. Only once Osha had come and pulled Rickon into her arms, spitting at Theon before dragging her brother away, Arya approached Gendry and the wounded girl. When she was close enough, she stared at the unconscious woman's pale skin, almost see-through; her features familiar like the wind in the North. The particular angle of the brown eyebrows, the roundness of her face, and her nose's shape. She could see it in her mind's eye, raising at her with scorn. And though she could not see the color of her eyes under the lids, Arya had no doubt about the exact shade of brown they'd be.

There, in the arms of Arya's own husband, was the same girl who convinced her, so many years before, that she was too ugly to be loved. 

"Arya," Gendry pleaded, making her turn towards him, to fully appreciate the look of panic in his face, surely as a reaction to whatever he read in her eyes.

The name roused the girl enough to look up at Gendry, and then, for her to follow his line of sight. She laughed in the little voice she had left, and though it came out closer to a sob, it still burrowed in Arya's old wounds, making them smart.

"Arya," he called again, standing up, and hoisting the laughing girl better in his arms.

The girl mumbled, _'That's not me,'_ and she tried to laugh again but ended up wailing instead.

Gendry's voice calling for her a third time made Arya finally snap out of her trance. 

"Let's take her inside," she instructed.

"What about him?" Gendry asked, turning towards the man crying, curled up in the snow.

"He can freeze to death for all I care."

* * *

Dolorous Edd ordered the newcomers to be taken to Maester Aemon's old quarters, where they could be looked after. They were given milk of the poppy and left to rest, with a black brother guarding them, while there was an emergency council held at the Lord Commander's solar. 

The heated discussion gave Jon a headache, as he tried to follow the many voices in the room. He remembered Theon and his treason, but in the same way that he remembered the lessons of Maester Luwin, of events that happened thousands of years before he has born.

"Is it really him?" Jon asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, it is him, alright. _You_ may not remember enough, but _I_ do. Rickon recognized him," Arya replied. "The reaction he had… There is no question."

"We have no maester, but Clydas, one of Maester Aemon's stewards, looked them over, just to see if there were any wounds," Edd reported.

"And were there any?" Davos inquired.

"They have many old wounds. Broken bones that have healed poorly, and they seem like they haven't had a proper meal or rest in a long while, but no fresh wounds," Edd explained, "but…"

"But?" Gendry asked.

"The man."

"Theon," Arya spat out.

"Aye, he's missing skin from his fingers, and… several other parts of his body."

"He was flayed?!" Stannis interjected.

"Aye."

"The flayed man is not only House Bolton's sigil," Edd added. "Word around is that even if flaying is forbidden, they continue to do it."

"Could they be coming from Winterfell?" Gendry asked. 

Stannis shook his head and then said, "Wherever they are coming from, Theon Greyjoy should be put to death." 

Arya did not expect there would be a day that she would see eye to eye with Stannis, even less that she would agree with him. 

"He deserves death, for what he did to Robb," she said, looking directly into Jon's eyes, trying to rouse his memories, to get him to react as the old Jon would. 

"Maybe we should wait, not make this decision so hastily," Davos intervened.

"And do what? Put him in the ice cells? It's getting quite crowded down there," Edd pointed out. "Jon, we need to call for a trial, for Karstark, the traitors, and now this man, if he is who your sister says he is."

"Where are they coming from? We need to know this first," Jon replied.

"For the lord's sake, what does that have to do with anything?" Stannis asked with irritation.

"What were they fleeing?" Gendry asked Arya, ignoring his uncle. "She said _'don't let him have me.'"_

"Greyjoy?" Edd asked.

"No, it was something else. waHe… Theon begged me to care for her before he tried to escape. He cares about her. That much, I know."

"If it was the Boltons they were escaping from, could she be…?"

Gendry didn't know how to finish his question.

"Me?" Arya offered.

"Mance. He went to get your sister," Val finally spoke, addressing Jon, "but the girl he went to save was not her. What if this girl is the one Mance freed? We need them alive to know where what happened to him."

"If they were with the Boltons, they could have information to take Winterfell and the North back," Gendry pointed out.

Jon stayed silent for a while, and after staring at all those in his solar, he spoke, "Tomorrow, when they wake, we'll get our answers."

* * *

"There is something you didn't say in your brother's solar," Gendry said once their cell door closed. 

His words made Arya pause her undressing for a moment, but she didn't turn around. Willing her hands to continue, she replied, "Aye, but I can't keep it from you." 

He came behind her and helped her take her leather doublet from her shoulders. 

Arya turned around, and Gendry signaled her to sit on the mattress to take off her boots. She liked the comfort Gendry's simple actions of helping her shed her clothing brought her. While it wasn't like other times, when they undressed each other hastily amidst kisses, there was something more intimate, sweeter, in relieving the other from their burdens. Arya had to swallow the lump in her throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the small token of care and the patience of his silence. 

"I know her," she spoke, making her husband stop his hands from pulling her leather breeches.

Gendry's deep blue eyes set on her, and while there was enough of a question in them, he still voiced it, "The girl pretending to be you?"

"Her name is Jeyne. She was my sister's best friend growing up," she whispered and had to pause before saying what came next. "She's the one who used to call me Arya Horseface and neighed whenever I came near. She convinced me that I was so ugly no one would ever love me."

Arya saw Gendry's jaw tighten and pull her breeches off in one movement, before sitting on the bed and settling her on his lap.

"You know _damn_ well that was a lie."

Arya stared at him for a few moments, bringing her palm to his cheek. Gendry moved it to his lips to place a kiss on it, keeping his eyes on his wife's. He wondered what was more challenging for her to believe: that she was beautiful or that he loved her. 

"Arya," he pleaded, needing her to acknowledge what he had just told her in a roundabout way.

Her lips curled in a poor attempt at a smile, and she buried her face on his chest, still clad in his leathers, while she wore only her linen shirt and smallclothes. It surprised him how she felt almost smaller than usual in his arms. 

"I told you that you looked beautiful on the night of our wedding, remember?"

Arya nodded, and Gendry swallowed hard before tilting her chin so she could see his eyes as he continued, "You're still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. No matter what she said-"

"It doesn't matter," Arya said, sitting up and interrupting him from what he had meant to say. "She was just a stupid girl. That's not what is bothering me now."

Gendry sighed and stood up to disrobe. 

"What is it?"

"If they're coming from Winterfell, she's the one who pretended to be me. She's the Arya Stark they wed to Ramsay Bolton. She's the one he's been hurting in my name."

Arya didn't have to say anything else as Gendry had seen the poor state of the girl, and he had heard her plead to keep her away from him. His heart shuddered at the thought of that man hurting Arya, even if in name only.

That night he slept with his arms tightly wrapped around his wife, unwilling to let anyone take her away from him.

* * *

Jon had been staring at the fire, not searching for visions as the red woman did, but something else. There was something in it, old and distance, but yet, warm on his skin. He closed his eyes, and he felt tendrils of fire against his face, heat kissing him without burning.

'You know nothing,' the fire whispered.

The door opened abruptly, prompting his eyes to open, and the trance broke. 

Arya walked inside with firm steps to find her brother staring at the fire with the same vacant eyes of his new life. She fought to push the uneasiness of the sight and the nagging thoughts of the Lord of Light being the one to thank for bringing Jon back.

"Jon?"

His slate eyes set of her with just a flicker of recognition, and Arya clung to the spark.

"I thought you'd want to know that Rickon is fine," she informed him, and a ghost from the House of Black and White slapped her hard, for the reproach in her tone. "He's quite shaken after seeing Theon, but he's better this morning."

Her older brother only nodded, and she hoped against hope that his reaction was out of sincere concern for Rickon.

A knock on the door made them both turn to see Satin coming into the room to announce that Clydas wanted the Lord Commander to know that the white-haired man was awake and calmer than the night before. 

* * *

When Jon and Arya, accompanied by Stannis, walked into the room where Theon was taken after he woke up, they saw the man standing upright more steadily than the night before. Satin had also informed them that he had been fed, and they had helped him wash and change into fresh clothes. He had been pacing around the room, but the moment he saw them, he cowered in the corner of the cell. 

"Theon," Arya spoke.

"No, my name is Reek, it rhymes with weak," he said out of instinct and looked away.

"Your name," Arya said, forcing herself to stay calm, as her knuckles went white around the pommel of her sword, "is Theon Greyjoy, and you betrayed my brother Robb, who loved you just like he loved his own brothers."

"More," Jon spoke, surprising Arya.

Theon cried with his face between his hands.

"Where were you coming from?" Stannis asked, but Theon continued sobbing in the corner.

Arya walked closer and tried something different, speaking only one word, "Jeyne." 

Theon's shoulders stopped heaving, and he turned towards her.

"How is she? I didn't want to leave her."

Satin cleared his throat and added, "we had to drag him away from her. Clydas said she's still resting."

"Theon," Jon spoke. "Where were you coming from?"

"Winterfell. We escaped from Winterfell," he finally replied, with eyes cast down. 

"How did you escape?" Arya asked.

"A singer came to the castle, Abel, that is the name he gave, but soon after, bodies started to appear. People disregarded them at first, thinking it was… _Ramsay_."

Theon swallowed and barely sighed the name.

"But then, word started to spread about the Ghost of Winterfell taking its revenge. Some said it was an old King of Winter who removed the stone from his crypt each night and avenged the ones killed during the sacking. Those brave enough to go past the lychyard said they could hear voices coming from the crypts, and others said that at night they could hear singing along the dark corridors."

"We didn't come here to hear ghost stories," the king complained.

Theon disregarded him and continued, "It was no ghost, but the singer who called himself Abel and some washerwomen. He said he was there to free Arya Stark."

Arya was sure it was no coincidence that Theon said her name looking directly at her.

"You know she was not me," Arya said. "You knew it was really Jeyne."

"Her eyes were the wrong color. I knew it from the start," Theon agreed. "Maybe _they_ knew all along, but the only way for us both to stay alive was to swear that she was the lost daughter of Ned Stark."

"You know this girl?" Stannis asked his good niece.

Arya nodded, "my sister's best friend, Jeyne Poole. She came to King's Landing with us."

"How did she get to Winterfell?"

"The Lannisters must have given her to the Boltons."

"The Lannisters would have known it was not you. Would they have told Roose Bolton?"

"Would it matter?" Jon asked.

"You've been with them all this long?" The king asked Theon. "After you sacked the only home you've known."

"I did not! It was him, Ramsay! He killed them all and burned the castle! You have to believe me!" He yelled, prostrated at Arya's feet. "You have Rickon, you know I didn't kill them!"

"Tell that to the boys you killed in my brothers' names."

"I did it! I did! Reek told me to do it and to mount their heads at the castle walls!"

"You said Reek was your name."

Theon laughed pitifully. 

"He said he was Reek, and that he was Ramsay's man. But you see, he had been dead for a long while. I trusted him when he said he would get help to keep Rodrik and his men from taking back Winterfell. He got help, alright. It was he who killed Rodrik and the rest."

"This Reek did it all?"

"No, Reek had been long dead," Theon said again, angering Stannis, who ground his teeth. 

"It was Ramsay Snow all along. He was the one who did this to me, and he said I was to be Reek."

"Clydas said that Jeyne has many old wounds. Did he do that too?"

Theon sobbed. 

"What he did to her was _far_ worse."

"Where is Mance?" Jon asked, and after seeing Theon's confused face, he added, "Abel, the singer. His real name is Mance, and he went south with six spearwives to free Arya. What happened to him?"

Theon shook his head. 

"They helped us, but they were found out. Abel fought them and sent us ahead with one of his spearwives. She got us to the castle wall, and we were to climb down with a rope, but she was cut down, and Jeyne and I had no rope to ease ourselves down. We had to jump from the battlements."

"And Mance?"

"He was fighting Ramsay when I last saw him. After…"

"After what?"

"When Ramsay knew what was happening, he went to Lord Bolton's rooms to let him know, when he came back he was covered in blood. _'Would you really betray me like this, Reek?'_ he said to me when he saw me with Jeyne, while he fought Abel. _'You side with the man who killed my father, his lady wife, and my unborn brother,'_ he said while he laughed. Abel, Mance, he told us to run."

"Roose Bolton is dead?" Stannis asked.

Theon nodded, "he killed his own father."

* * *

After leaving her brother and King Stannis with Theon, Arya walked to the room where Jeyne was kept. Both men wanted to interrogate her, but Arya reminded them Jeyne had been posing as her, and that alone earned her the privilege of speaking with her in private. 

Clydas informed her that she had been given some food and water, but she was warm to the touch, and he was worried she'd spike a fever. He wanted to give her more milk of the poppy and hope that sleep would make her regain her strength. Arya asked that he let her have a few moments with her before he did. 

The curtains made the room dark, but there was a strong fire in the hearth that let her see her face clearly. Arya walked to the cot and sat on the chair next to it. At first, she thought Jeyne was asleep, as her eyes were closed, but the moment she sat down, they opened, and she saw recognition in them. For a split second, Arya felt herself tense, expecting her to neigh. Her mind knew those times were long gone, and Jeyne had far better anguishes to focus on than pick on her. 

But old wounds were hard to close. 

"Jeyne."

"I wondered if you'd remember my name."

Arya huffed. 

"How could I not?"

The dark brown eyes studied her for a while, looking for something in her face. 

"Everyone in King's Landing thought you were dead. Where were you? When they came and killed my father and Septa Mordane, when Ser Boros made Sansa and me prisoners, and then when they took me away to-, "Jeyne stopped herself from finishing her sentence, and instead, she let out a sob. 

"I escaped, and I saw them kill my father," Arya replied. 

She did not owe an explanation to the girl that had hurt her so deeply in the past, but the same name bound them together. Arya spoke then as if talking to herself.

"A recruiter from the Night's Watch found me, and he cut my hair to make me look like a boy. He was going to take me back home."

"Did he?" Jeyne asked though she knew the answer already.

"No, not even close."

Jeyne look away for a long while, and Arya could see her silent tears, but she didn't offer any words of comfort. 

"When we arrived, a man held me up. Who was that? I saw the way he looked at you."

Arya felt the embroidery needle make the first puncture in her flesh.

"My husband."

"A blacksmith?" Jeyne inquired with a laugh, and Arya felt the needle making one perfect stitch and starting another. 

"Among other things."

Jeyne roared with a loud, ugly laugh, stitching one perfect bloody rose in Arya's heart.

"What's so funny?" Arya asked, trying to distract herself from her pain.

"I married _your_ husband," Jeyne replied.

Arya tasted bile in her mouth, thinking of anyone else other than Gendry in her bed, but then Jeyne delivered another perfect stitch, "And you married one that was better suited for me. _He's handsome_."

Arya couldn't stop herself from feeling jealous at the mere implication that Jeyne could take Gendry away from her, along with everything else she had taken in the past. 

"I used to be envious of you, you know?" Jeyne asked in between gasps. "You got to be the lord's daughter and sister to Sansa. I used to think it wasn't fair that you got to be the lord's daughter, and they made you all those pretty dresses. I'd get so cross, seeing the way you got mud on them and ripped them."

Arya let her stitch her story together without interrupting her. 

"Everyone said I was pretty. Maybe not as pretty as Sansa, but pretty nonetheless. Prettier…"

_'Than me,'_ Arya thought, knowing what words Jeyne was keeping to herself.

"I thought I could be you. I was sure I'd do a better job and that I'd be happy. I was wrong."

"What happened after they took you away?" Arya asked.

"I was given to Littlefinger. He took me to one of his places."

Arya didn't have to ask.

"And after?"

"He was the one who told me I had to be you and make sure to convince Lord Bolton and his son. Lord Baelish taught me many things, you know? And I was always so good at my lessons. Septa Mordane said it all the time."

After that, Jeyne cried, and her sobs got loud enough for Clydas to come and place a hand on her forehead.

"It is as I feared, my lady," he said to Arya. "She has spiked a fever. I must give her milk of the poppy."

Arya nodded and left Jeyne to Clydas care. 

As she walked away, the knot in her stomach was the same one she used to feel after one of Septa Mordane's sewing lessons.

* * *

The following day it was colder than usual, and Gendry thought it well suited for an execution. Stannis had commanded that no more time passed without justice being dispensed in the matter of the mutiny. Dolorous Edd had made a strong case for the Night's Watch being the one passing sentence, and not the King of Westeros, legitimate or not. 

There had been a lot of talk about adding Cregan Karstark and Theon Greyjoy to the accused. Still, Ser Davos pointed out that both men made for far more valuable hostages, and in the case of Theon, a source of information regarding the Boltons that they could not afford to lose. 

The four bound men were brought out of the ice cells, to the center of the training yard, where a large crowd awaited. 

"You were all brought here to answer for the crime of treason," Dolorous Edd announced.

"Is it treason to do what you must to save the Night's Watch? Because if it is, I am guilty of it, Eddison Tollett!" Alliser Thorne bellowed, putting a show for the crowd.

"You are guilty of killing your own Lord Commander in cold blood, Thorne," Edd replied, and all eyes present turned to face Jon, who remained impassive despite it all, with only the scar above his eyebrow as proof of the crime the accused committed.

"That _boy_ should have never been appointed Lord Commander, and you know it!" Thorne continued, addressing the black brothers. "The treachery was the way he fooled you all into naming him Lord Commander."

"I am here, Thorne," Jon growled, breaking his silence, "if you have something to say, say it to me."

"You think I fear you, _Lord Snow_? You are no Lord Commander. Are you are even a man?" Thorne sneered. "You are no different from those things beyond the Wall. You walk around us today only because you fornicated with the king's red witch!"

"Silence!" Stannis yelled, offended, while Melisandre's lips seemed to curl slightly. 

Jon felt every word spilling out of Alliser Thorne's mouth, just like each one of the daggers that buried in his flesh only a fortnight before.

_'Kill the boy,'_ Maester Aemon's words echoed in his head, _'and let the man be born.'_

"Am I to get a just sentence for my loyalty to the Night's Watch from you, a turncloak and wildling lover?" Alliser Thorne kept taunting him. 

Gendry saw out of the corner of his eye that Arya's hand was clutching the pommel of her sword, but yet, his own hand was tight around the handle of the dagger hat his hip.

The murmurs around the crowd were getting louder as the mastermind of the mutiny continued spewing insults at Jon, who, after a while, walked towards the man and, taking his own knife out, he cut the rope around his wrists, setting him loose.

"You are right. I am no Lord Commander anymore. Your blades made sure of that."

The man smiled, rubbing his wrists, but before he realized what was happening, the blade that had freed him was buried deep in his gut.

"For the Night's Watch," Jon said, keeping him upright by the blade, and only when Thorne's eyes showed that he had finally understood, Jon turned the knife in his flesh and pulled it out, letting the large man fall to the fresh-fallen snow.

The sudden whistling of the northern wind announced everyone's utter silence.

As Thorne lay on the ground bleeding out, Jon looked to where Arya, Gendry, and Edd stood, next to the king and his men. 

"My watch has ended," he announced and walked away. 

* * *

Arya had wanted to follow Jon, but she remained where she was, giving her brother space, and instead, her hand searched for Gendry's and held on tight to him. She saw her brother walk away, followed by Ghost. No one had made a movement to stop him after killing Thorne without a fair trial, having collected on a debt that was due. 

After he left, Edd and Stannis had let the remaining mutineers speak. Bowen Marsh only said that he had done what he thought it was best for the Night's Watch, and that if his brothers decided he had to die for it, then he'd take his punishment. The other two, Whittlestick and the young black brother that had participated in Jon's killing, took their turns, pleading for their lives and sobbing. In the end, each black brother was given a black and white stone and told to place their choice in a large pot that Hobb set in the center of the yard. 

In the end, there was only a handful of white stones in the pot, and the traitors were quickly hung from the rafters. 

Arya had meant to search for Jon, and only when Gendry left for the forge, Melisandre approached her.

"May I have a word, my lady?"

"Are you here to collect?" Arya asked, eying her warily. 

"A promise is a promise, and I imagine a Stark wouldn't want to break one."

"You are mistaking me for a Lannister. It is they who pay all their debts."

"Wasn't Ned Stark known for his honor?" the red woman dealt a hard blow, "but let us forget about honor. You made a deal to bring your brother back, I say it was the Lord of Light, you say it was the God of Death. No matter which one, what do you think either one would do without proper payment?"

"You will have me choose between my brother or my husband?" Arya asked with one eyebrow raised.

Melisandre stared at her as if searching for meaning in the flames, and then, with a lopsided grin, she answered, "There is always _another_ way."

Arya felt the hollowness in her stomach, anticipating what the red woman would demand. 

"And what is that?"

Instead of replying, Melisandre smiled broadly and stared at Arya for another long moment. 

"How's your bitter tea?" she asked. "Do you have enough? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to it all the way here and without a maester."

Melisandre's exaggerated movements made Arya think of the mummers in Braavos.

"You wouldn't be able to find it," she countered, keeping her features blank.

Melisandre looked towards the forge. Gendry was standing by its entrance, with his eyes trained on both women. 

"What tells you I haven't _already_?" she finally asked, not taking her eyes away from Arya's husband. 

Arya's gasp let her know her blow had reached its target cleanly.

She turned to look at her, and after a deep curtsy, she walked away.

Arya walked briskly towards Gendry and let him envelop her in his arms. 

"What did she say to you?" he asked with concern, but Arya did not reply, and instead, she focused on the rhythmic thudding of his heart. 

"Arya," he pressed. "What did Melisandre say to you to have you this rattled?"

"She asked about my tea," she mumbled against his chest. 

"What was that?" He asked, pulling her away so he could see hear her better.

"My tea. She asked about it and said that it would be a shame if something happened to it."

Gendry thought for a moment and then stated, "We'll be careful, make sure she doesn't tamper with it."

Arya laughed.

"What is that?"

"She asked me what makes me think she has not done it already."

Gendry's eyes went wide, and they lowered to her midsection, and then back to her eyes.

"Could you…?"

Arya let out all the air in her lungs as if she was punched square in the gut.

"No… I don't think so… I don't know," Arya hesitated and let him pull her again into his arms. 

"When will you know?"

"Until I get my moon blood… _or I don't._ "

* * *

That night, in their cell, they lay in bed in complete silence, just listening to the loud crackling coming from the fire. Gendry massaged Arya's scalp as she lay her head on his chest, listening to the tune of his heartbeat and willing hers to still.

After a while, Gendry brought his other hand to her neck, and he caressed her softly. His fingers moved up and down, setting on Arya's chin, and he tilted her head to bring his lips to hers, kissing her languidly. Arya pulled herself higher on his chest, and her hands came to cradle his face. She pulled away for a moment to look into Gendry's eyes as if searching for something. 

When she was pleased with what she found, Arya kissed him with growing desperation, and then, setting her palms on his chest, she pushed herself to sit on his lap. Arya canted her pelvis tentatively, eliciting a sigh, and Gendry's hands setting on her naked thighs. The light from the fire lit only one half of her face, leaving the other completely dark, and as Gendry observed his wife, lips parting with the dance of her hips, he thought that she had never looked more hauntingly beautiful. 

Gendry bent his knees to set his feet on the mattress and shifted up, causing sweet friction that prompted Arya's eyes to roll and her head to fall back. The movement forced her chest forward, and he couldn't stop himself from cupping one generously offered teat, teasing the nipple with his thumb to make it pucker. Gendry groaned, knowing he would never get tired of seeing her peaks tightening only for him. 

He sat up, setting his hand firmly on Arya's lower back and letting his knees fall to the sides. Arya took advantage of his proximity and quickly claimed his lips once more. The slow cadence of their hips continued until his hard length slid between her slick folds. Both sighed with eyes closed as they lined up and joined. 

When he was finally seated fully inside her, they took their time, looking into each other's eyes for a small eternity. Words rushed to their lips but bloomed only into sighs.

They made soft love like that for a long while, just holding on to each other in silence. Gendry nuzzled her ear and neck and kissed every inch of her face, as her hard nipples moved against his chest. It was only when Arya's legs grew tired that he held on to her and eased her movement, pulling her closer to him, to create new friction. When Arya was unable to keep from moaning low, he lost all control, and holding on to her, he turned them around, laying Arya on her back and getting more purchase to reach deeper. Arya planted her feet firmly on the bed and moved her hips to meet each one of his thrusts. 

Gendry felt himself dangling close and so, he brought his thumb to the nub in between her folds, to coax her release before his. He was well-rewarded when Arya peaked with his name on her lips and a delicious vise around him. It was all too much, and he barely had enough time to pull himself out and spill all over her belly.

With eyes closed, Arya felt the warmth of his seed on her, and his forehead resting on her chest. Her chest heaved, trying to catch her breath still, as she ran her hand through her husband's hair. Her heart was still racing when she felt Gendry softly wiping his seed from her, as he nibbled the sensitive skin of the underside of her breast while she rode the last of the aftershocks of her pleasure.

The care in his actions overwhelmed her, making her throat close, and her eyes wet. 

"I'm sorry," he spoke in a low voice. 

The concern in his tone prompted her to open her eyes, and she caressed his cheek, wanting Gendry to see the bliss on her face.

"For what? _Ringing my bell_?"

His guttural laugh made her skin tingle, and her toes curl.

"Not for that, never for that," after a sigh, he added, "for soiling you."

"You took care of it already," she pointed out, "and besides, I understand."

The fear did not need words to be conjured.

"In case you're not…" he attempted to say, but let the words out. "I don't want to risk it."

"I know."

Gendry lay down and pulled her against him, and his stubbled face kissed the back of her neck, tickling her a bit, but distracting her from her fears, enough to let slumber claim her. Only when her even breathing let Gendry know that she was asleep, his hand slid to her lower belly, letting himself worry. He knew it was not enough to pull out before spending himself on her warm skin and that relying only on willpower was tempting fate.

Something had to be done.

His resolve allowed him to fall asleep, convinced that he had to do everything in his power to keep Arya and their future safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm eager to know what you guys think of the latest developments. 
> 
> Thank you all who take the time to read and leave a comment, I promise I will reply all, now that I'm done with the chapter I can take time to catch up.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry have a far more enjoyable war council of their own. Jeyne's state deteriorates, but she and Arya have a more meaningful conversation. Gendry pays a debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this one took blood, sweat, and tears, but it is finally ready. Thank you for your patience.

[ ](https://imgur.com/hq1pKAL)

Despite the uneasiness with which he had gone to sleep, Gendry roused calmly, feeling warm and safe. It took him a while to breach the edge of slumber enough to realize that it was the slow friction of his wife's backside brushing against him what had woke him so deliciously. Their cell was still dark, and Gendry felt no urge to rise and ready himself for the day yet. He gave in to the sensations, into the laziness of naked bodies staying warm under the furs in a cold morning while minds were not fully awake. 

By the time the first rays of the sun filtered through the threadbare cloth that covered the small window, hands were roaming free unapologetically, and bodies ground against each other as they took turns to gasp, groan and giggle. 

Once it was impossible to pretend they were still half-asleep, Arya looked over her shoulder, attempting to turn around, "I'd say good morning, but I think that much is obvious."

"Stay like this," Gendry said, cupping her face and kissing her softly.

When the kiss broke, Arya laughed lazily, looking away from Gendry, and burying her face in her pillow, while her husband, deprived of her lips, entertained his idle mouth nibbling her ear.

"You woke up happy," Arya said, raising her head again once her laughter died and enjoying the leisure of her husband's hands getting reacquainted with her teats.

" _ I _ didn't wake up. It was that lovely ass of yours rubbing against me that did it."

"I did  _ not _ !"

"You did,  _ love _ —" he said, and as soon as the word left his lips, he corrected himself, "Arya."

Gendry felt his ears heat up, realizing what he had said out loud and his reaction to it. He didn't know what was worse, to feel self-conscious about saying it to his own wife, when his feelings had always been out in the open, or the fact that he had quickly corrected himself. In any case, Arya did not say anything about it, and Gendry wondered if she had even heard him. 

She had.

The little word had made her dizzy and increased the sweet little ache deep inside. Things were too messy in her head to deal with it just then, and like many times before, she shoved it all into niches in her mind like the ones in the Hall of Faces. 

"Maybe it was  _ you _ and  _ your _ hard cock that woke  _ me _ ," she said instead.

Her choice to lead their early morning conversation back to their sexual banter relieved and disappointed him equally. 

"My cock is  _ always _ hard in the morning, so that is a stupid excuse."

Arya swatted him without looking back, but Gendry caught her wrist, and they both chuckled. She liked the feeling of the vibrations that transferred from his chest and the tickle of his warm breath on the back of her ear. 

"This feels nice," Arya said, after a deep sigh.

"I think we both agree that this is  _ better _ than nice," Gendry quipped as he rubbed against her slickness.

"Not  _ that _ , stupid. I mean,  _ that _ is always better than nice. What I meant is waking like this, without the weight of the world on our shoulders."

"I know," he replied with a kiss on her shoulder as a token of his sincerity. 

"Though the sky's still falling," she pointed out.

"Let's not think of it. Let's stay here for a day, pretend like the world outside doesn't exist."

"That would be lovely," she replied, "though there is much to talk about, like what we've learned from Jeyne and Theon that can help us take Winterfell back."

"We could talk about it here. What did  _ she _ tell you?"

Arya took a deep breath, and Gendry berated himself internally for pulling back the dark clouds over their heads again.

"Awful things that Ramsay Bolton did to her in my name."

"Don't think about that. We'll get your home back. What are our odds now that she's here?"

"He can no longer claim that Winterfell is  _ his _ through me, for a start."

Gendry knew it was not Arya, not the real one, not  _ his _ , the one Ramsay Bolton claimed to own, but it still made him flinch every time. 

"Should we inform all the Northern houses? Surely the Boltons won't parade another girl and try to pass her off as you."

"I wouldn't put it beneath them. We should be sending ravens, to our allies, and to more houses that can swing to our side."

Arya could feel the way Gendry's arm tightened around her middle at the mention of the man who claimed to be her husband.

"You know it is not  _ me _ that he hurt, do you? I've been in  _ your _ bed all this time."

Instead of an answer, Arya felt Gendry burrow his face in her hair, nuzzling until he bared enough of her shoulder to leave a kiss there that was dangerously close to a bite.

"We should take Winterfell back soon then," he said once the faint reddish marks of his teeth adorned her skin, making him feel better. "I know Stannis has been talking about taking Deepwood Motte instead."

Arya shook her head. 

"No, we need to take Winterfell first. Get all our allies to siege them from every direction, have them feel helpless once they realize they have no supporters in the North, and that the Lannisters won't be sending anyone to help them."

"You're sure they won't?"

"They have their own problems to deal with us all the way up here. Something tells me that the Boltons served their purpose already."

Gendry felt Arya smile. He couldn't see her, as she was looking away, but the way her body relaxed against him made him willing to bet that he was right. 

"What is it?" he asked, curious to know what had made his wife go soft.

"You'll like it in Winterfell. It won't be as cold as it is here, with the hot springs water pumped in between the castle walls."

"You've told me about these magical walls for so long. I hardly think them real anymore, like  _ grumkins _ ."

Arya half-turned to look into his eyes.

"You've seen men be brought back to life, one of them my own brother, and you believe about the Others beyond the Wall, but you set the line on Winterfell's warm stonewalls?"

Gendry smiled and holding on to her neck. He gave her a searing kiss.

"Mayhaps," he replied as they parted, keeping their faces close enough that he could brush the tip of her nose with his. "Or mayhaps it was a ploy to get you all hot and bothered."

Arya smiled and gave him a quick peck, "You must doubt your own skill if you have to resort to cheap ploys to get me hot and bothered, Baratheon."

"Don't call me  _ that _ in bed," he replied as his hand started sliding up from her belly until it reached high enough to cup a teat and stiffen her nipple with his thumb. "And besides, I think I do well enough, making you hot for me."

"Idiot," she singsonged just as if it was the loveliest of terms of endearment.

"Keep saying it. It only makes my cock harder."

Arya tried to give him one of the kisses that the courtesans in Braavos told her made their patrons go mad with desire, but they both were grinning so much that it was impossible. She liked the way lewd words sounded coming out of Gendry's mouth. They didn't sound sordid as they did when sailors said them as she walked by them, nor demeaning, like the ones Lannister soldiers used as threats on the kingsroad. 

She turned around in his embrace instead so that they could look at each other, and she could get her arms around his neck. She raised her leg, hooking it over Gendry's hip and allowing her to rub herself against his length, letting her slickness coat him, making it easier for him to slide in between her folds.

Gendry groaned and pushed her back, making her arch enough that he could dip his head to take one tight nipple in his mouth. He feasted on her teats for a while, slowly, in stark contrast with the voracious way in which he was wont to do. He took his time, and Arya took hers to run her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. She memorized the ridges of his brow bone, the exact length of his deep black lashes. Whenever he looked up, still with her flesh in his mouth, she could only see the intense blue of his eyes through a curtain of black.

After a while, she pushed him back, but he kept his teeth around her nipple, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that it stretched it as much as it could go until it popped out of his mouth, shiny and deep red. 

"Talk to me. I want to hear your voice during."

" _ During _ ?"

Arya leaned in, trying to get her mouth close to his ear. Gendry quickly realized she could not do that easily, and he got closer to help her.

"I like to hear your voice while you're inside me."

That was enough for him to bring his thumb to her entrance to cover it in her wetness and bring it to her bud and rub a handful of circles around it. Arya arched her back with a groan, and Gendry took her invitation, lining himself with her and slowly penetrating her. 

"What do you want me to say while I'm sheathed in you?" he said, swallowing the  _ 'love'  _ that almost slipped out a second time.

"Whatever you want," she replied without opening her eyes.

"I look forward to taking your home back for you— with you," he corrected himself. "Then you can prove to me that those magical stonewalls exist, and I can spend a whole day and night making love to you without fearing my balls freezing off."

Arya laughed at that, and the jerky movements of her laughter felt better than they should around Gendry.

"First, we need to figure out our strategy," Arya pointed out, opening only one eye, teasing him.

Gendry continued the game by pulling and then thrusting back in as he said, "you are right. We should figure out how to breach their defenses."

"That's smart, and you seem to know how to breach any entrance."

"Only yours," he said with mirth, timing it right with another stroke.

Arya laughed, pushing back, making both of them groan.

"I like this war council much better," Gendry said after a moment, without breaking their rhythm. "We should make all our political plans this way."

"And what? Invite Stannis and the red woman to watch?" Arya asked, raising one eyebrow teasingly.

"Don't talk about them when I'm buried in you!" Gendry said, with his hand cupping her jaw, making her look at him, and another thrust for good measure.

"Why?" she countered.

"Well, to start, to avoid getting me going soft."

"Oh, I can prevent that," she countered, with one exquisite circular motion.

* * *

Jeyne had lost track of time since she paced in the room, but then again, she had been in the tower for so long that time had lost all meaning. She turned towards the small window with great effort, but the curtains were drawn, and she couldn't see much of outside to say if it was day or night. Despite the crackling fire in the hearth that painted everything in an orange hue, the room felt cold. Yet it felt stifling, despite her shivering, but her intense aversion to feeling trapped could explain that. Her teeth chattered, but her cheeks felt hot.

An older man kept checking on her, placing cold compresses on her forehead that made her shudder every time they touched her skin. Her eyes would open and close, and it felt like he kept hovering around her, in between blinks, but she suspected that hours passed in between his fussing.

The only difference came the last time she opened her eyes, and she was there.

_ Arya. _

The name had been Jeyne's for so long that it felt queer to think of the woman sitting at her bedside as its rightful owner.

"Are you really here?" Jeyne asked, and her own voice sounded foreign, so much that she wondered if she was watching herself in a dream from afar.

Mayhaps she had never left the tower, and she was still there, dreading the time her lord husband would come. She could remember falling onto the snow and the long ride in the cold that nibbled at her toes and the tip of her nose.

The cold was cruel, but Ramsay was crueler.

Strong arms hoisting her up was the last thing she remembered. And then, a conversation with  _ her _ . Had that been real?

"It is really me," the real Arya responded, "you are in Castle Black."

Jeyne sobbed with relief.

He was far away, far enough that he wouldn't be able to touch her.

After a moment, wiping her tears, she asked, "Theon?"

"He's here as well. He has been asking about you."

Her lips curled in a way Arya had never seen Jeyne smile before.

"Good."

Both women stayed silent for a long while until Jeyne spoke, "Were you here before, or was that a dream?"

"I was."

Arya saw Jeyne's hands plant themselves on the bed as she tried hard to get herself upright, grimacing with her great effort. Arya helped her, and for a moment, she wondered if Jeyne would slap her hands away, but she let her, in the same helpless way the youngest of the children at the Inn would let her help them up when they fell and scuffed their knees.

"Why do you come here?" she asked in a voice without a bite.

"Why wouldn't I?

"I never liked you," Jeyne confessed, with eyes cast down.

"That's fair enough," Arya replied. "I never particularly liked you either."

"I used to neigh when you were near, and yet, you come here. I'm not your sister. There is no reason for you to come to check on me."

Arya let out a long sigh and looked away for a while.

"You are in all my memories of growing up in Winterfell," Arya said, looking through the window to a time long gone. "You are there, just as much as my sister and my brothers. As much as Theon. How can I not come to see you when you lived  _ my life _ for so long."

Arya laughed at something that Jeyne was not privy to and then said, "Fuck! All these years, you've been more Arya Stark than I was."

Jeyne wondered what she meant by that, but yet, it was clear that both of them were selfish with their secrets.

"It was a  _ shit _ life, pretending to be you, in Winterfell," she said instead as an offering. "How was it? Being you, wherever you were?"

Arya stared at her, noticing that she was not asking her where she was or what she did in all those years.

" _ Shit _ as well."

Jeyne laughed as much as the fever allowed her.

"We should never have left," Jeyne finally said once she calmed down.

"To be honest, I never thought I'd agree with you, but yes, we should have never left."

"I thought I was lucky, going to King's Landing, wearing pretty gowns and watching the jousts, with the handsome knights," she sighed. "I was stupid."

Arya huffed, and her lips pursed, and then she said, "Everyone is stupid when they're younger. Some of us grow out of it if we're lucky."

"And the rest?"

"The rest gets worse."

"How's Theon?"

"He has eaten, and he's got clean clothes. He  _ smells _ a lot better," Arya said, scrunching her face, trying for a jest.

Jeyne laughed quietly, but then she looked towards the fire.

"Ramsay did that to him.  _ Worse _ things even. And what he did to me, he made him watch."

Arya thought of her foster brother's poor state and whispers of the black brothers that helped bathe him. Still, her mouth tasted blood.

"He betrayed Robb."

Jeyne pursed her lips.

"I used to like seeing them both in the training yard sparring with Jon. They were handsome. I blushed whenever Theon would say something lewd to me, and then Robb would tell him to leave me alone, making my belly flutter when he'd look at me."

"He was his friend, and he still betrayed him," Arya repeated.

"He paid for it. Ramsay made sure of that."

Arya swallowed the bitterness in her mouth, and they remained silent once more.

"I was there," Arya finally spoke, "when they killed Robb. I didn't see it, but I saw what happened after when they sewed Grey Wind's head to his body, and they paraded him around. And then later, I saw the dead body of my mother after it had been in the river for days."

"You weren't as lucky as I thought you were."

Arya shook her head and took no offense on Jeyne's words, seeing in her eyes that she said them without disdain.

"I doubt anyone could call themselves lucky. Not since we left Winterfell."

Jeyne starting sobbing.

"Are you hurting? Do you want me to call Clydas? Theon?"

Jeyne shook her head.

"At Littlefinger's place… they taught me to do… things… At first, I cried a lot. It felt wrong. I was not what Septa Mordane taught us, not what father wanted for me. But father was dead, and so was Septa Mordane. I got used to it."

Jeyne paused, and her tongue clacked in her mouth. Arya helped her take a sip of water.

After thanking her with a nod, Jeyne continued, "Later, I learned that the girls were nice; they taught me things and told me to pay attention, to collect secrets I could trade with later. When Lord Baelish told me I was to be you and marry Ramsay, I thought things could be better. I knew how to please men, and I knew I could be lovely like Sansa. I could make him love me and be the proper lady that a bastard like him would only dream about."

Jeyne took a deep breath, and Arya did not press her to continue talking.

"He's not just a bad man. I saw plenty of despicable men come to Littlefinger's place. But nothing like Ramsay. He's no man; he's a monster. He did things… It wasn't like at the brothel. That I could take, but he likes it to hurt, and he likes blood. The more you cry, the better. On our bedding, he had Theon watch and… get me ready. After that, he kept me locked in a tower. Maester Wolkan had to come often to give me milk of the poppy, for the pain, and to forget."

"I'm sorry you had to endure that… in my name."

Jeyne shook her head.

"But you see, even if I wanted to die, to jump from that tower, I soon learned I was the lucky one."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked, knitting her eyebrows.

"He takes what he wants,  _ who _ he wants, by force most of the time. And he loves no one but his hounds. They're all female, his girls, he calls them. When he is done with a girl, he will let her free in the woods, naked, and he lets his hounds hunt her. The ones that give him good sport get a quick death, and he names a new bitch pup after them."

"And if they don't?"

"If they don't, they suffer long, as he flays them bit by bit. He talked about his girls a lot, as he hurt me. That part was worse than what he was doing to me whenever he talked about them, and I recognized more and more names."

Jeyne wailed then, and her face was clammy, with her hair plastered on it.

"Are you in pain?"

Jeyne nodded, and her hand went to her lower belly.

"Down there, it hurts."

Arya called Clydas, who came and touched her forehead.

"She's hotter. I need to give her more milk of the poppy."

"No! No more, please, no more.  _ He's _ there in my dreams. I don't want to dream of him."

"I'm sorry, but we need you to rest," Clydas said, forcing the milk of the poppy past her lips.

Arya left then.

* * *

Arya walked to the forge, needing to bury her face in Gendry's chest and have the scent of pine, ash, and sweat make her forget. She was surprised to find her brother Jon there. 

"Jon, I didn't expect you here."

"I wanted a chat with Gendry," he explained. "He was kind enough to share with me some of the things that I don't quite remember.

"About me?" Arya asked, arching one eyebrow.

"Among other things," Jon answered honestly.

"Just from when we arrived at Castle Black, and some of the things that happened when we were together on the road, as children," Gendry was quick to clarify. "As I've told your brother, the rest of your story is only for you to tell."

"You still don't remember?" Arya asked, approaching her older brother.

"I remember… Most things, I believe. There are a few gaps."

For some reason, her brother's words sparked her anger.

"And what do you  _ feel _ ? For Rickon and me?" She asked, approaching him more and more menacingly.

"I think you are important to me."

"I don't care about what you  _ think _ ! What I am asking is to know if you feel something for us," she said, slapping her hand on his chest, right over where the dagger burrowed all the way to his heart. "For Rickon, and Bran and Sansa, and me."

Jon swallowed. 

"I feel something, but…"

"But…?"

"I'm not sure what that is. I know I love you in words, but there are things inside me that are still frozen."

"That's all I needed to know," she said, turning around.

"Arya," Jon called for her.

Arya stopped and only turned her face, so her profile was highlighted by the sun from outside.

"Just drop it."

Gendry quickly took off his apron and walk to her, turning her around with his hands on her arms.

"Where are you coming from?"

"I went to see Jeyne."

"Again?" Jon asked.

Arya nodded.

"We still have unfinished business."

"Did you learn anything that may help us?" Gendry asked.

"Just the horrible things Ramsay Bolton has done to her and the people in Winterfell. All the people we grew up with, Jon."

Her brother's jaw tightened, and once more, Arya wished that it was out of true feelings and not a story he knew just as it had happened to another.

"He'll pay for it," Jon said after a while. "All of it."

* * *

Once both siblings left the smithy, Gendry found himself lacking the urge to make the steel sing. He had plenty of molten metal in his veins to make him want to bang the anvil just for the sake of purging the foul mood that had come back to his heart much too soon after their morning lovemaking. And so, he let the fires die, knowing that he wouldn't find in them the satisfaction that they had always given him. After tidying the place, he took the steps he did not particularly want to take, yet, Gendry knew he had to. He was at the door, much too soon. He didn't even have to knock, as it opened up unprompted.

"What brings you here, my lord?" the red woman greeted him.

He left out a sigh that sounded more like a grunt.

"Arya's debt to you."

The woman smiled with that conceited face of hers that always managed to turn Gendry's stomach and said with a too cheery voice, "It is not to me she owes. It was R'hllor who blew fire back into her brother's mouth."

"You, your red god, the fuck if I care!"

Gendry pursed his lips and palmed his stubble with eyes closed, trying to compose himself.

"I don't believe in the red god, nor whatever comes out of your mouth."

The woman did not seem offended at all, but rather curious, in the way her eyes seem to look for something in him in an intrusive way that felt like she could dip her hand in his chest and pull his heart out whole.

"Why are you here then?" she finally asked, lifting her chin.

"I may not believe in gods," he explained, "but I believe in Arya. I am here to pay for it once and for all."

The woman said nothing but stepped aside, and Gendry entered the chambers she occupied in the King's Tower. The place was sparse, but a large brazier raged with an open flame in the middle of it. 

"You are afraid," he heard her say behind him. 

Gendry turned his head abruptly and found her there, by the closed door, with her hands clasped together over the red bodice of her gown. He turned to face her as tall as he could. He did not want to stand sideface, but to be as broad and imposing as he could.

"Not of you."

"No, not of me," she replied, approaching to stand next to him, but with her eyes trained on the fires. "But fear is written in your eyes.  _ Wants _ and fears."

Melisandre turned halfway to face him and continued, "…even the one thing you desire but are afraid to admit to yourself."

Gendry ground his teeth.

"It's none of your concern what I desire or not. What is your concern is that if you don't stop harassing my wife and meddling with things that concern only us, I will make sure you are just a red stain in the snow."

"Don't you want your seed to quicken in your wife's belly?" she asked with feigned innocence.

Gendry grimaced.

"You do."

He rubbed a hand over his face and stayed silent while his nostrils flared.

" _ Not like this _ ," he finally said.

Melisandre walked around the chamber until she reached a table on the side, with a tray full of vials of different sizes. She took her time picking the flasks until she found the one she wanted and walked back to the brazier, while Gendry continued to stare at the flames and clenching his jaw so hard he was sure he'd be aching in the morning.

"Who decided to have her drink her bitter tea?" she asked, standing once more next to him. "Was it you or her?"

"It's none of your business," Gendry said calmly, not even turning towards her. 

"It was  _ her _ then," she concluded, and she poured the black viscous liquid into the fire, making it glow and sparkle. 

"You want her belly to swell with your babe," the red woman hissed, and Gendry could see the faint silhouette of the Arya from his dream, walking barefoot with a sword on her left hand in the green flames. "A child who you will give what you never had: a name you'd be proud to pass on. Your son will continue the Baratheon name, and your House shall be reborn from the embers through your blood."

The vision of his wife, big with his babe in her womb water dancing, turned into smoke at the mention of the Baratheon line. 

"We're in the middle of a war!" he barked back. "I saw plenty of women die in childbirth at Flea Bottom, and that was in normal circumstances. I will not risk losing Arya."

"A natural fear, of course, my lord. Not unfounded, looking at your size and hers. You are likely to give her big lusty babes. But you have the Lord of Light on your side. With his blessing, through me, you can rest assured that your wife will be the one to nurse your son at her breast."

Gendry huffed, turning around, refusing to look anymore into the treacherous flames. 

"Is this the same blessing that the Lord of Light has bestowed on my dear uncle and aunt?"

Melisandre's smile fell as her jaw tensed for the first time since he arrived.

"The queen's womb is an arid land, hard to let Stannis' sons take root."

"Funny, I thought nothing was impossible for gods," he said, and while he liked when Melisandre found herself without ways to explain the arbitrary power of her god, he'd rather spend the least amount of time with her.

"Very well, what is your price then, witch. I rather settle it soon and head home to my wife."

He didn't like how the woman's red lips curled up, and the flames of her eyes danced once more. 

She walked towards him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, and placing one hand on his chest, she leaned in and asked, "And how do you expect to pay for it, my lord?"

Her other hand was suddenly at the low neckline of her dress, and she pulled it down, baring her breasts. 

Gendry held on to her wrist and cautioned her, "Not this way."

"Pity," she said, pulling her dress back up, but much too slowly. "With your fire, we could end this war before it really started."

"I'm not my uncle. Name another price."

"Blood it is then," she replied, pulling a skinny dagger from her sleeve. "Bare your torso, my lord."

Gendry was not too happy about it, but he still dropped his cloak and pulled his shirt off.

"This is the first and only time you will bleed me,  _ witch _ ," he explained to her as she approached him, setting her hand on his chest to keep him still as she brought the blade to his skin. 

"If you ever threaten my family ever again," he said, holding her neck hard, making her see him in the eye, "I will not hesitate to break your skull with my hammer."

* * *

When Jon and Arya reached Maester Aemon's old treating rooms, Clydas came out looking haggard.

"What is it?" Jon asked. 

He was no longer Lord Commander, yet the old steward still bowed slightly.

"The young girl, Lord— Jon. Her fever is not abating, and she complains of pains. I've been trying to keep her cool. She's lucid at times, but most of the time, she's delirious."

Arya pushed past both men and sat down next to Jeyne, who moaned, moving her head back and forth. Her skin was clammy, her cheeks bright red.

“Jeyne? Jeyne, can you hear me?”

"Sansa?"

"No, Jeyne, it's me, Arya."

"He thought I was you! He hurt me! He did!" she wailed.

"He's not here," Arya said, cooing, while she dabbed her forehead with a compress, and she brushed the hairs plastered on her face back.

The gesture seemed to calm her a bit, and she only whimpered.

"She says it hurts in her lower belly," Clydas said, from behind Arya, standing there with Jon.

"Have you checked her?" Arya asked.

"Didn't seem proper, as I have no experience with women's bodies."

Arya pulled the furs off Jeyne and hiked the shift she was wearing.

"Forgive us, my lady, but we must look," Clydas said apologetically, but Jeyne seemed too far gone to mind. 

Under her belly button and a bit to the left, there was a large purple bruise.

"That's fresh," Arya pointed out.

"It was a small faint mark when they arrived," Clydas explained. "I thought it was an almost healed wound, but now…"

"Has she gotten up? Did she fall?" Jon inquired.

"No, she has been in bed since we put her there."

"Something is wrong," Arya added.

Jon looked first at his sister and then to the steward, "What is wrong with her?"

"It's a fever. I cannot make it go down, no matter what I try."

Arya turned to the man and asked, "Have you given her anything?" 

"Just water and milk of the poppy. I've put cold compresses on her forehead, but that's it. You see, now that Maester Aemon is gone, we have no one properly trained. Not even Samwell. He was no maester, but the lad had a good head for it. Chet and I were only stewards. Chet knew more about healing stuff, but he got killed. My tasks were more about reading ravens and books to Maester Aemon."

"Is there anyone else who can help her?"

"Not here, not with the black brothers."

"We need to find someone," Jon said. 

"Someone who understands women's bodies," Arya said. "The free folk, they must have a healer."

* * *

Val was easy to find in the area of Castle Black, where the free folk had set their tents. She was sitting by the fire, cutting an apple with her hunting knife, and eating, watching the Stark girl approaching her with determined steps. The girl had been the start of her deepened grief, even if she didn't know or cause it. It was another that Mance had gone to rescue, another that had stolen her name. And then the girl Mance had gone to save was now lying on a bed at Castle Black, while Mance was surely captured. 

Val stayed where she was, with her leg folded in front of her and her elbow resting on it while she ate her apple and she watched Arya approach. 

"Val? I want to ask a favor of you," Jon's sister said to her.

She ate another piece of apple, right off her knife, and then she asked, "What is it?"

"We need a healer, there is no maester left at Castle Black, and Jeyne, the injured girl who arrived a couple of days ago, is getting worse. Do you know anyone who can help her?"

Val felt the impulse to say no, to deny help to the girl that had caused Mance to be captured, but she wasn't to blame either. 

"Tormund's wife arrived a few days ago," she explained, sheathing her dagger and tucking it at the front of her belt. "She has experience helping women birth babes and healing the ill."

"Could you please ask her to come to the see Jeyne?" Arya asked.

"I will."

* * *

Arya went back to the infirmary to sit next to Jeyne, who alternated her whimpers and moans with things that made no sense. Arya wondered where she really was and who she spoke with when she refused and pleaded. Her clammy hand clasping hers all of a sudden startled her as her crazed eyes.

"Promise me," she pleaded.

"What do you need?" Arya asked, wiping her brow with a compress.

"Promise me it will be  _ you _ who kills him."

Arya would have asked more, but then a grey-haired stout wildling woman came into the room and commanded it despite Clydas trying to talk to her. She came to Jeyne's bedside, and she placed her hand on her forehead. Finding it too hot to the touch, she took the time to brush back the wet hairs plastered on it.

"I've been caring for her," Clydas said, trying to get the woman to listen. "I can tell you all about her condition."

"How many babes have you birthed,  _ crow _ ? How many women have you saved and lost of childbed fever? How many have you healed from flowerings so painful and abundant that they plead for death?"

"My lady," Clydas said, "I'm a brother of the Night's Watch."

"Exactly, now leave me be."

The man pursed his lips, and if he was unhappy with the tone of the healer, he did not say anything. He only nodded and left the room.

"Tell me what you know," she said to Arya when the man was out of the room.

"This is Jeyne, her fever doesn't go down, and she complains of pain. She has an angry bruise on her belly, but she didn't have it when she arrived, and she's been abed ever since."

The woman stared at Arya for a moment, and then after a sigh, she asked, "Is she your sister?"

"No, but we did grow up together. There was never love between us, but my home was her home, and she did love my sister like kin."

"Winterfell?"

The word took Arya aback coming from the healer's mouth.

"Yes, how did you know?"

The woman smiled as she started pulling the furs off of Jeyne's body.

"You are Arya Stark, the sister of the Lord Commander, are you not?" she said without looking at Arya.

"Yes, Jon is my brother, though he is no longer Lord Commander."

The woman huffed her disapproval.

"I heard what happened from Tormund."

Arya observed as the woman took the heavy furs and blankets from Jeyne's body and slowly lifted her shift.

"Can you help her?"

"You said you had no love for each other, but you are trying anything possible to help her. Why?" she asked, finally looking at her.

"It was my fate that brought her here."

"She's the one they say that Mance went to save, isn't she? The one that was supposed to be you?"

"Yes."

The woman didn't say anything else, and instead, she bared Jeyne's belly, the purple stain having spread more since Arya saw it last.

Arya noticed the face the woman made when she saw it and how she turned to Jeyne, who only whimpered with eyes closed. She caressed her cheek and then went back to touching her lower belly, palming the skin there, pushing her fingers in her flesh hard, as if looking for something.

"What is it?" Arya asked.

"It is as a feared."

"What?"

"She's with child. It's the babe that is doing this to her."

"How can it be? How can you know? She's so thin."

"Aye. She has not eaten enough, but life clings wherever it can. Her lower belly is hard as stone, but it is not as should be."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you see this bruise, yes?" 

"Theon said that they had to jump from the battlements at Winterfell," Arya explained.

"Aye, she's covered in bruises and scars, recent and old, but this is more than that. This one is newer, but it was not made by her fall."

"Then what?"

"It's her babe. It's rare, but I've seen it before. The babe took root in the wrong place, not in her womb."

"You can tell all that from a bruise?"

"Her man planted his seed in her, but it didn't quicken where it should have, and her babe is ripping her apart as it grows."

"What can we do?"

The woman sat down next to Jeyne, taking her hand in hers, ignoring Arya's question.

"It won't be long, brave girl," he whispered to Jeyne, soothing her by massaging her forehead. "The old gods will lead you home."

"Crow!" she yelled to Clydas, who came running in. "Give her as much milk of the poppy as you have."

She then looked at Arya and said, "Pray to the old gods."

"She is going to die?"

"Aye. There is nothing to do. The babe is killing her. If we cut her to get it out, she'll die anyway. The bruise is because the babe ran out of space to grow and ripped through it. She's bleeding inside."

Arya looked at the girl who had hurt her so in the past, and yet she felt the prickle of a tear in her eye.

"It is not fair.  _ That man  _ did horrible things to her," she said, brushing at her eye before the tear had time to escape.

"Aye. That is a woman's lot in life. I've helped bring many children to the world, and I've seen my fair share of women dying in their bloody beds in the best of circumstances. Her body had already suffered a lot. It is always a gamble to bear a child."

Arya shuddered at her words, still unsure if Melisandre's words had been true or just a threat.

"Have you done it? Bear a child?" she asked the healer to distract herself from the thought.

"Aye. Babes quickened in my belly seven times, but I gave birth only to five," she responded as she tidied Jeyne's shift and the sheet under her. 

"I lost my eldest some years ago," she explained, looking up at Arya, letting her see the pain of loss in her eyes. "But I was lucky enough to deliver my two grandchildren. I have not seen them in years. I pray to the gods of the North that they keep them safe."

Arya feared for those children if they were not among the free folk that had crossed the Wall. 

"And you?" the healing woman asked her.

Arya shook her head, but she still feared Gendry's seed could have already quickened in her womb.

"Where I come from, we have no maesters," the woman explained. "It is women who birth the babes. Why would we need a man to tell us how it must happen? Women are tougher than Westerosi men believe. Men from where I am from know this. At the gate of my home, there is a carving of a woman in a bearskin with a babe suckling at her breast in one arm and a battleaxe in the other."

Jeyne's sudden moaning and her eyes fluttering open stopped their conversation as the healer stood up to look for the milk of the poppy herself.

* * *

Gendry groaned the moment he arrived at the door of their cell, both from the wound to his side and from the time spent with his uncle afterward. The only silver lining to his visit to the King's Tower had been the brief moments he spent with Shireen, even if she was cross with him when he admitted he had not done the writing and reading practice that she had tasked him to do to improve.

It was that sweet memory of his cousin, which gave him the courage to open the door.

"Where have you been?" his wife asked, sitting cross-legged on their bed.

Gendry liked the sight that greeted him, Arya already free from her clothes from the day and wearing only one of his shirts. It didn't matter that her shift would probably reveal more skin since seeing her wearing his clothes made heat pool in his belly. He liked how small she looked in it, and he dared think that she missed him enough to want to wear his shirt to envelop herself in his scent. 

Gendry could think of  _ other ways  _ to imprint it on her, but when he moved, his wound smarted. 

"Nowhere pleasing, I can tell," Arya replied herself, and Gendry realized he must have grimaced.

"Aye. I was at the King's Tower."

"That bad?"

Gendry grimaced once more.

"Most of it, but then I saw Shireen, and she made it a bit better."

"It feels like forever since I've spent time with her."

As he removed his cloak and his boots, Gendry added, "a lot has happened in the last fortnight."

Arya slid to the side of the bed, and the action made the hem of Gendry's shirt slide up, revealing a bare leg all the way to the hip.

"My eyes are up here," she pointed out, noticing Gendry's distracted stare.

"Aye, I know," he said, letting his eyes trail up slowly, "but I was enjoying  _ other _ favorite parts of mine."

Arya did not let his cockiness distract her; instead, she pressed on, "What did Stannis have to say to you?" 

As she approached him, Arya was fully aware that she was swaying her hips more than she usually would.

"Nothing of import. I shared the decisions we made  _ in our own war council, _ " Gendry said with a twinkle on his eye, and both smiled at the memory.

"What did he have to say," Arya asked again with a coy smile.

"He was still dead set on taking Deep Motte first, but Davos thought our plan sound. He will start sending ravens."

"Good," Arya replied, putting her arms around his torso and bringing her head to his chest, holding on tight, but Gendry's flinch at the contact made her suspect. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing important."

Gendry should have known better to expect that Arya would drop the issue.

"It is. I don't think it is that you don't want to touch me. Nothing could have changed that much since this morning, so then it is something else, what is it?"

"Leave it be,  _ Arry _ ."

The use of her old nickname bothered her, and Arya slid her hand slowly over his torso, with her eyes trained on his face, looking for a reaction. When she touched his left side, Gendry couldn't stop himself from jerking at the contact.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing."

"Take off your shirt," she commanded.

Gendry pursed his lips and stood still until he closed his eyes in defeat and pulled his shirt off by the back of his collar. 

Arya saw the cloth tied around his middle, with traces of blood over the side.

"What happened to you?!"

"I'm alright, it's fine. It's just a flesh wound."

Arya did not wait for his permission and started unraveling the bandage until it showed the angry red line.

"Who did this? I'll kill them!" she yelled, reaching for her breeches and sword.

Gendry held on to her side, pulling her back to him, despite the discomfort the movement brought.

"You won't do anything. We've cleaned worse wounds off each other in the past; this is nothing."

"We were in battles before or trying to stay alive! There is no battle here, so it was a personal attack."

"It was not," he pointed out, and after a grunt, he added, "I agreed to it."

Gendry was well aware of how fury looked in his wife's face, and while there were times that he even felt drawn to it, he hated being the cause.

"You agreed to have someone cut you on the side? Whatever for? Who could have done that?"

Gendry stayed silent, and after a sigh, he pursed his lips once more and said, " _ You know. _ "

"I'll kill her!" she yelled, trying to break free from his embrace to seek her revenge. "Why would you let her hurt you?!"

"Because I paid your debt!"

Arya stopped struggling in his arms.

"She bled you?" Gendry could see her eyes quickly filling with angry tears. "You let her bleed you?"

"Yes! I did. I don't like it either, but I do not regret doing it."

Arya broke free then, and Gendry did not try to stop her as she paced their small cell.

"Why would you give her what she wanted?!"

Gendry sighed and rubbed his face with both hands.

He then said, "If it was what got her off of you, off of the possibility of taking a child of ours?! Of course! I did it gladly!"

Arya walked back to him, furious as she dug her finger in his chest.

"Don't you worry about what she will do with it?!"

"What, with king's blood? My blood?  _ Neither of us _ believes in her fucking god. Let her believe what she wants. A few moonturns ago, my blood was just bastard blood, and it suddenly became magical? That's  _ horseshit _ ."

"What about Jon?"

"I don't know why your brother walks again among the living," Gendry explained. "The Ghost of High Heart said your tears would wake the dead, so there. I believe it was you and not her who did it."

Gendry felt Arya's anger leave her body, and he held on to her.

"While Jon was on that table, and she chanted, I prayed. I prayed to every god known to men, but most of all, I prayed to the God of Death," Arya said with her cheek on his chest, letting the cadence of his heartbeat calm the storm inside her.

"What does that god ask for in return?"

"A death for a life," Arya whispered.

"There. All your debts are paid then, no matter who did it. If it was the Lord of Light, I paid her with blood. If it was the God of Death, whoever was meant to die is already dead."

Arya could not refute his logic, and she let him tuck her head under his chin after a kiss to her forehead, while she wondered what poor soul could have paid for her brother's life. 

After a while, they broke apart, and Arya redressed the cut. They went to bed, holding each other in a tense embrace, but still needed. 

As Arya fell as sleep, the beginnings of slumber took her back to the comment of the healer, and she wondered about the lands beyond the Wall, and where the large gate with the woman in the bearskin holding the suckling babe in one arm and a battleaxe in the other was carved. She wondered if it was in the haunted forest, or further north yet, in the lands of always winter. Arya couldn't know how wrong she was, and that the healer's home was south of those places, in a small island across the Bay of Ice, closer to her home than she imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your faith in this story, I cannot believe we have come so far already. I fell behind replying to comments, but it was for a good reason: to get this chapter finished, I promise I will start replying as soon as this one goes live.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Ghost run into a scuffle in the middle of the night and their decision to intervene has important consequences. There is a council to decide the next steps and many things are revealed. Many ravens have arrived at Castle Black, but among them, two wax seals stand out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's me! 
> 
> Had to take a little extra time to care about my health. Nothing major, but had to take better care of myself, eat better, exercise and sleep at a reasonable hour. I cannot be writing fic and posting at 4 am anymore. Nevertheless, this fic keeps progressing, fear not. 
> 
> Just a short disclaimer, I've proofread this more times than I can count, and I'm sure something escaped me, but I cannot see straight anymore, so please disregard any pesky typo.
> 
> *Added author's note: forgot to add the disclaimer that I've used a big chunk of the Pink Letter from the books, with some tweaks.

[ ](https://imgur.com/VKX7a5K)

It was a bit after dusk when Jon and Ghost were walking, doing the rounds between the old buildings of Castle Black for no reason. Jon was no longer Lord Commander, yet there was something soothing in the rote repetition of his previous life habits. Days and nights stretched endlessly before him, but when he reached to touch the memories, they stubbornly stayed afar.

Man and beast both sensed the scuffle before they saw it. Ghost's ears perked up, and the growl he made prickled in Jon's throat. They walked briskly, searching for the source of the muffled sounds, and though it was dark, Val's white furs made it easy to recognize that she was the woman whose face was pressed against a wall as a wildling man twisted her arm behind her.

"Let her go," Jon growled, getting the attention of the handful of people that were there, watching. 

"This is not of your concern, _crow_ ," the man behind Val barked back, with his mouth by the woman's ear, making her jaw tense noticeably.

"I'm not going to say it thrice," he warned, making a pause after each word, " _Let her go._ "

Ghost snarled, baring its teeth.

"You stole a woman from us before, and now you have a problem with us doing the same with one of our own?" the man asked.

Jon didn't respond, and instead, he pulled the man off of Val and struck him with a hook to the gut, knocking the wind of him.

"What are you doing?!" Val yelled, pulling Jon hard by the arm to face her. 

The crowd around them grew, not just with free folk but also with Stannis' soldiers and Northern clansmen.

"I'm helping you," Jon replied, noticing just how close their bodies were.

Val narrowed her eyes and said, "I could have taken care of him. I didn't need your help."

The ice flames of her eyes enthralled Jon, almost as much as the Great Wall of Ice had the first time he laid eyes on it. It occurred to him, right then, that just like the Wall, Val's anger was thick and expanded over the years, and for an instant, he wondered if there was a way to chip through it.

"Well, I wasn't going just to stand there while you were getting hurt."

The crowd was getting rowdy around them, and Val grasped Jon's cloak hard.

"Do you not know what you just did?!"

Jon's silence enraged Val even more.

"You just let everyone know that you intend to steal me yourself."

The words had come out of Val's lungs with a grunt, and her chest, under the pale furs and leather, heaved noticeably.

Jon had not thought of the implications. In all honesty, he had not thought of anything beyond stopping the man who was hurting her. 

"I did not do it because of _that_ ," he explained, softly holding on to the hand still clasping the front of his clothes.

"You will have to fight me now."

Jon closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"I do not _want_ to fight you."

"My knife would have ended up in his gut, and it would have been the end of it," Val explained, clenching her fingers more tightly around his cloak. "Now, either _I_ kill you, or everyone else will think I am your woman."

The hiss of the wind and the chatter from the crowd buzzed in Jon's ear. He could feel the pull from Ghost, to have his eyes roll back into his head, and let his body fall like an empty cloak, so he could rip apart the men trying to hurt her and flee to the woods with her atop him.

Jon's eyes closed tightly, and his jaw tensed, fighting against instinct.

"I do not want to steal you," he vowed with eyes closed. "I will not fight you."

"If you walk away now, everyone else will take turns trying to take me because I am up for grabs," she said, letting go of his clothes, only to punch him on the chest as she commanded, " _Fight me._ "

Jon shook his head, angering her. Val struck him on the jaw, making him grunt, but before she could punch him again, he held on to her wrist. 

"I thought you had stolen a woman already, but mayhaps it was _she_ who stole _you_. Do you know nothing?" Val taunted.

_'You still know nothing…'_ Ygritte whispered in his ear, and a red hot barb pierced Jon's icy heart.

They both stared at each other, chests rising up and down violently.

Val growled and head-butted Jon on the nose, making him bleed. Jon let go of her to brush the blood with the back of his hand. 

"You can still bleed," Val provoked him. "Good."

"You have a bone to pick with me," Jon spoke, staring at the bright blood on his palm. "This is your chance."

By then, the crowd cheered, and out of the corner of his eye, Jon could see men rolling their sleeves, eager for a turn to try to steal the wildling princess. Even some of Stannis' men seemed encouraged from what they saw, and others took bets.

A hard slap to the face pulled him from his distraction, making him take two steps back. 

Ghost growled at his side, but Jon's bloody hand kept them both rooted to his spot.

"You took _my_ child away!" she yelled, and her bare teeth made her look like a she-wolf.

"I took him out of harm's way!" Jon yelled back, holding on to her arm. He twisted her so her back was against his chest and his arms restrained her, wrapped around her. 

Jon's breath was labored, fogging a bit in front of his mouth, and its warmth tickled Val's ear. 

"Is your fat friend going to protect him?" Val asked, trying to distract herself from the sensations of having a hot-blooded man embracing her from behind, reminding her how long it had been since the last time.

"You took him out of harm's way, but you stole him from me to give to strangers, and you expect them to keep him safe!"

With that, she elbowed him on the side and got herself free, turning and holding on to his cloak, with two hands this time.

Jon suddenly realized just how close Val was when he felt her knee connect with his groin. He bent forward in pain, but he did not fall. After the white pain calmed enough, he raised his head.

"I did what I had to protect him!" He grunted, standing up straight, catching her fist in his palm as she tried to punch him.

"He was not _yours_ to protect!"

Val knocked Jon to the ground and straddled his torso, bringing her knife to his neck. 

Jon didn't flinch. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edd trying to break through the crowd.

"It's fine, Edd. Do not intervene." 

He then turned his dark eyes to Val, and he spoke, "Well, then. This is your chance."

Val's angry eyes stayed on him, but the pressure of the blade against his neck faltered. Before the knife could slip away, he caught her wrist again.

"Think twice before you make your choice," Jon warned.

"There's no point. The choice is already made," Val said, pulling back her hand and sheathing her dagger on the scabbard tied to her leg. 

The crowd gasped and wailed.

After standing up, she offered him a hand to help him up.

Once they were up, she leaned in and spoke close to his ear.

"You'll have to drag me to your room, and make it look good, _crow_ , or you will be praying for death again."

Jon stared at her, and instead of doing as she had instructed him, he threw her over his shoulder, walking with determined steps, despite the squirming, punching, and kicking that she displayed for their audience.

When they made it to the small cell where Jon had been staying since he left the Lord Commander's chambers, and the door was closed and barred, Val stopped her squirming altogether, and Jon set her gently on her feet. 

Jon stared at the woman, trying to read something in her impassive eyes. 

"I didn't mean for this," Jon spluttered out. 

"It doesn't matter what you intended or not."

They stayed there for a few uncomfortable minutes, without saying a thing. 

Val looked around the sparse room. 

"You _do_ sleep," she said, staring at the bed. "The free folk believe that you are no longer capable since you rose from death. They say that you and Ghost walk all night, cursed to be unable to sleep ever again."

Jon snorted. 

"You can tell them tomorrow how much I snore."

Jon's attempt at a joke fell flat and made both of them self-conscious about sharing the small bed in the cell.

"You can take the bed. I can sleep with Ghost," Jon said, looking away.

"No," Val replied, surprising Jon. "I miss Jarl. And I suspect you miss the woman you stole." 

"Her name was Ygritte," Jon said aloud, feeling the fire of her ghost escaping through the window, leaving only the cold air that pushed them to seek each other for warmth. 

"Mayhaps," Val said, walking slowly until her chin touched his chest, "we could miss them less tonight."

* * *

Dawn was colder than usual the following morning.

Arya could tell when despite her Northern blood and the blazing body of her husband, a chill woke her up. She disentangled herself from Gendry's embrace, regaining all her fury when he whimpered in pain because of the wound on his side. Still, Arya left their cell, heading towards the infirmary. She was pleased to hear from Clydas that Jeyne had had a better night, and seemed a bit more lucid that morning. After thanking the steward, she took the seat next to Jeyne and waited until she roused. 

Jeyne smiled when she recognized her, still with half-lidded eyes.

"Who was she, the kindly woman who was here before?" Jeyne asked. 

It was only then that Arya realized she had never asked for the healer's name.

"I don't know her name," she said, "but she came from beyond the Wall, with the free folk."

"Wildlings?"

"Aye. They're escaping from the Others."

"The Others are real?" Jeyne asked, and Arya was able to hear a faint laugh in her voice. "Not just another one of Old Nan's stories?"

"They are."

Jeyne sighed, and her face became somber again.

"There is a silver lining to dying _now_ then."

Arya had wondered how much Jeyne knew of her condition and if she would have to break the news.

"Jeyne," Arya said, setting her hand on top of hers.

The dying girl held on to her arm with her other hand, forcing Arya to look into her eyes, and then she said, "I am dying, am I not?"

Arya nodded slowly.

The same chill that roused Arya hissed in through the window, gnawing at both woman's exposed skin.

"I thought so," Jeyne added, and after a long sigh, she said. "I think I've known for a long while."

Arya braved the question she had feared, "Did you know you are with child?"

"I suspected it," she sighed. "It's _him_ who's killing me, is it not?"

Arya swallowed and replied, "The healer said that it is growing out of your womb, and there is no space to grow where it is."

Jeyne laughed.

"Ramsay always said that he'd be the one to kill me. He was right."

"I'm sorry," was all that Arya could say as she watched Jeyne wiping a tear with the back of her hand.

"It's not your fault, is it? It was always me. I'll pay for how awful I was to you and for being so jealous."

Mayhaps there was a time, years before the war of the five kings and before the trip to King's Landing, when those words would have meant something, bring some sort of vindication, but right then, in the sparse cell at Castle Black, and with the Northern wind hissing outside, it only made Arya hollow. 

"No one deserves it."

Jeyne looked towards the window, and with a soft curl of her lips, she said, "At least I will die far away from him, and in the North. There is only one thing I regret."

"What is it?" Arya asked. 

Never before Jeyne's eyes looked more profound than in that moment, when they set on Arya's as she spoke, "Not being there when _you_ take him down."

Arya remained silent. 

"There is a way," she said after taking a long while to decide her words. 

"For what?" Jeyne asked.

"For him to see _your face_ when he knows he has lost it all."

"How?"

Arya leaned in closer so only Jeyne could hear her.

"I will have to tell you the story of what happened to me, where I went and what I was doing all these years. I must warn you, though. It's not a nice one."

The shadow of a girl Arya once knew replied, "Tell it anyway."

* * *

Gendry squirmed in his seat uncomfortably, his fidgeting making the wound on his side smart, and curse under his breath. He kept looking towards the door waiting for Arya to show up, trying to avoid the stares from his uncle and his red woman, taking comfort only in the presence of Ser Davos. Arya had left early in the morning to check on Jeyne, and he had planned on working on the daggers alongside Rickon. Gendry hadn't been in the smithy long. He had only barely started showing Rickon how to handle the bellows since he couldn't do it without irritating his wound when they were both summoned by the king to a council. 

To his right, Rickon seemed just as uncomfortable. He had been scowling since the moment he was told Shaggy Dog would have to wait outside. The only way to have him agree to sit in the council had been to bring the wildling woman who raised him to sit with him. The king kept eying the woman with contempt, but far from being bothered, Osha seemed to revel in the discomfort her presence caused to Gendry's uncle Stannis.

The door opened, and Gendry felt his mood lighten, but he was disappointed when his good brother came in, followed by Val. Osha grinned, looking at the man and woman, and made a gesture to Rickon, who smiled at something to which only the two of them were privy.

It was still a while until Arya arrived and took her seat next to him. Gendry searched for her hand, keeping both of theirs clasped on her lap. Right after her, Tormund came with his wife and Clydas. 

"Very well, it seems like we are all here," Ser Davos said, after clearing his throat. "There are many things to discuss, both from recent developments here at Castle Black and from the responses to the ravens we sent. 

"We could start congratulating the little crow!" Tormund bellowed. 

Everyone but the free folk at the council table seemed confused at the man's words. 

It didn't escape Gendry that his good brother's head was cast down, and the wildling woman dressed all in white next to him seemed to clench her jaw more tensely. 

"There's no need," Jon said, looking at Tormund.

"What is it about?" Arya asked, "Jon?"

"You didn't hear your brother stole a woman last night? And not any woman, but the sister to the King-Beyond-the-Wall."

"Shut up, Tormund!" Val yelled.

"Well, well," Melisandre intervened. "You were quick to claim your prize, Lord Snow."

"Jon?" Arya asked, tightening her clutch on Gendry's hand. 

"It's complicated," was all her brother said, looking at her.

Arya looked at the woman that, by all means, was now her good sister, and she couldn't see anything beyond the icy stare of her pale eyes. Arya's eyes were soon on Jon's again, asking a question silently.

"I'll tell you later."

"I must say," the king intervened then, "that this development might be most auspicious. The _wild_ — free folk," he corrected himself, "are kinned now to the North, both through the marriage of Alys Karstark and Sygorn of Thenn, as well as Lord Snow and Val."

"A union that must be blessed by the Lord of Light," Melisandre added.

"No," Val responded emphatically but said nothing else. 

"You've stolen _two_ of our women now, little crow. It seems to me like more than just a passing craving."

"I've heard my new sister didn't give much of a fight," Rickon added with a sneer, which only made Val narrow her eyes.

"It's not always about who steals the woman," Osha added, "but _who_ she _allows_ to steal her."

Rickon and Tormund chortled, and the healer smiled widely. 

Ser Davos cleared his throat again, "my best to you both, but there are far more pressing matters that need to be addressed."

Arya searched for Jon's eyes, and he said again, "Later," only loud enough for those next to him to hear. 

"What news do you have for us, Davos?" The king inquired.

"We have received several ravens from Northern houses who have pledged their support to our cause, knowing that the Boltons lied about the identity of the girl they tried to pass as Lady Arya."

The king seemed to perk up at the news of support, "What houses are on our side?"

"Flint, Cerwyn, Glover, Tallhart, and Hornwood, along with some minor houses. We also received word from Lord Manderly, and he reiterated his support, along with the houses sworn to White Harbor."

"What of House Mormont?" Jon asked, looking at the pommel of his sword.

"Nothing, the young Lady Mormont did not respond to my raven."

"And she will not," the voice of the healer interrupted. 

"How would you know this?" Jon asked.

The king inquired as well, "And who are you? To speak with such confidence."

"Your Grace, this is Tormund's wife, the healer that has cared for the young girl that came from Winterfell," Davos explained.

"I'm sorry, I didn't ask your name before," Arya said, looking at the woman.

"You had enough to worry about."

"I'm Arya, but you know that already. What is yours? I would like to be able to call you by your proper name."

The woman grinned.

"I haven't heard my proper name in years, as my man only calls me his she-bear," she said, looking at Tormund.

"And because that is what you are, _woman_ ," Tormund replied with a smile.

"My name is Maege… Mormont."

"You're not a wildling," Gendry said.

Maege shook her head.

"Everyone in the North thinks me half-wildling, but no. I was born and raised in Bear Island. I crossed the Bay of Ice plenty, though, to meet with Tormund."

"You were with my brother Robb," Arya added.

"Aye. My Dacey died with your brother and mother at the Twins. I expect you have a lot of questions for me," she said, turning to Arya and then her brothers. "But that can wait."

She then turned to Davos and said, "You have not received a response from my Lyanna, but I can give it in person. House Mormont will fight alongside you to take back Winterfell. Bear Island will not bow to any king who is not a Stark," she said, looking first at the king, and then to Arya. 

Gendry could see the questions in Arya's mind, in the way that she stared at the woman with insistence, remembering what Howland Reed had disclosed to them.

"What of the girl, the false Arya?" the king asked then.

"I'm afraid that she will die soon," Maege explained. "The bastard of Bolton planted his babe in her belly, and it took root in the wrong place. It is ripping her apart as it grows."

"How long?" Jon asked.

"A few days, at best. No more than a sennight."

"We should make sure we get as much information from her and Theon Greyjoy," the king commanded. 

Arya felt a heaviness in her heart, thinking how little a woman's life was worth. 

"What should we do now?" Gendry inquired.

"We have improved our numbers, and we have the support of more and more Northern houses. It is time to take the North back," Arya challenged.

"Two more ravens have arrived, Your Grace," Clydas added.

"Give them to Davos."

The man looked around, with his hand on his chest, where he carried the parchments. It struck Gendry the discomfort that was evident in his face. 

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but they are not addressed to you."

"Who are they addressed to then?" Ser Davos asked.

"There is one from the Vale, addressed to Lady Arya Stark."

"Petyr Baelish has written to me?"

"No, my lady. It's not from Lord Baelish. It is from the Lady of the Vale, Sansa Arryn."

"Sansa?" Rickon asked, and Arya smiled at the recognition painted on his face.

"Aye, my lord."

"Who did your sister marry?" Gendry asked, leaning into Arya.

"Read it," Jon asked. 

Arya took the parchment from Clydas, and her fingers followed the ridges of the seal, the outline of the blue falcon. She broke the wax seal, and, after unfolding it, she was surprised by the familiarity of her sister's tight, elegant hand. 

"It is Sansa's handwriting."

Jon asked, "Can you tell?"

"Yes, I didn't know it before now, but there is no doubt in my mind it is hers."

"What does she say?" her younger brother inquired.

Arya read quickly through the words. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that the king was displeased that she chose not to read it aloud, but she did not care. It was a message from her own sister and addressed only to her. 

"How does she know you are here?" Gendry asked.

"Uncle Brynden," she explained. "He's in the Vale with her."

"Who did she marry?" Jon asked.

"Harrold Hardying. Robert Arryn, our cousin, passed in his sleep. His heir took the name Arryn and married Sansa. She's now the Lady of the Vale."

"And Petyr Baelish?" The king inquired.

"He remains as her advisor."

"That is not good news," Gendry added.

"Uncle Brynden has filled her in about our alliance and our plans to win back the North."

"Do we count with the support of the Vale?" the king asked.

"We do."

"You don't seem pleased, dear niece."

"Petyr Baelish was the one that sold Jeyne to the Boltons to pass as me. As long as he is by Sansa's side, we cannot trust completely that we the Vale on our side."

"At least the Blackfish is with her," Gendry added.

"What about the other raven?" Ser Davos asked Clydas.

"It has a pink wax seal," the steward answered, hesitatingly. 

"What sigil?" Jon asked.

Clydas pulled the second parchment from under his leathers, and placed it on the table, in front of him, and said, "The flayed man."

The Westerosi in the room had a somber look, knowing full well who the sender was. 

"Who is it addressed to?" the king asked.

Clydas looked away from the king and turned his face towards Jon, who seemed surprised. 

"There is no name, only a word, _'bastard.'"_

Arya noticed both her husband and older brother flinching at the word. 

Gendry looked at his good brother and said, "you read it."

Jon broke the seal and unwrapped the parchment. A pink flaky bit fell on to the table.

"What is that?" Davos asked.

Jon picked it up and held it for everyone to see. 

"A piece of skin."

He let the piece on the table and looked at the big spiky letters, written in brownish ink. 

_"You sent your King-Beyond-the-Wall to steal my bride._

_If you want Mance Rayder back, come and get him. I have him in a cage for all the North to see, proof of your lies. The cage is cold, but I have made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell. I've sent a token for you to know I do not lie._

_Give me my bride back, and tell that other bastard that claims to have wed her to deliver her himself._

_I am the only true husband of Arya of House Stark._

_I will have my bride back._

_I do not care who you think the true Stark heir is. I married her in front of the old gods and the noble houses of the North._

_I want my bride back in my bed where she belongs and where I will plant my heir in her womb._

_Give me back my wife._

_I will kill your false king._

_I want my Reek. He's not yours._

_Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows._

_Keep them from me, and I will cut out both your bastards' hearts and eat them._

_Ramsay Bolton,_

_Trueborn Lord of Winterfell."_

Gendry's hand was clutched Arya's thigh harder with every word Jon read aloud. He could feel Arya's smaller hand on top of his, trying to calm him. Mayhaps it was only that which kept him from standing up to fetch his hammer and ride day and night until he reached Winterfell and caved in Ramsay Bolton's head with one swing. 

Val's voice was the one to break the silence first as soon as Jon was done reading.

"He has Mance prisoner! The bastard will pay for it!"

"He doesn't know that his wife will die," Tormund said. "She won't survive a sennight, let alone a ride to Winterfell."

"He's not asking for Jeyne," Arya replied.

Gendry turned to his wife and said, "Not you."

"To him, it doesn't matter if it's Jeyne or me. He only wants a name."

"You're not his wife; you are mine!"

"Aye. I am yours, but Ramsay Bolton doesn't care about that."

"It doesn't matter!" Jon yelled. "We will not give you to him."

Arya looked from Gendry to both her brothers and felt more rooted than she had been in years. She grasped Gendry's hand harder, and looking towards Jon, she said, "We have the support, we have the numbers, we must take Winterfell now."

"The free folk will fight with you," Val offered.

"Will your people join our cause?" Stannis asked.

Tormund spoke then, "not _your_ cause. We will fight to get Mance back. There will be time to negotiate with the North after, but not with Southron kneelers."

"Fine!" Stannis spat out. "We will fight together to retake the North. After we do, and my niece and nephew sit as King and Queen in the North, the free folk can do whatever it is that you decide to do. The North will honor its word and fight with me, along the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands for the iron throne."

The king ground his teeth, with his eyes set on Arya.

"I gave you my word. I will honor it," she vowed.

"What of the Others?" Maege inquired.

"The Wall stands strong still," Jon replied. "As long as the Wall holds, we will all be safe."

"What of the people that stayed beyond the Wall? Hardhome?" Val asked.

Tormund took a deep breath, and looking around, he said, "Whoever is not on this side of the Wall is lost. We cannot risk anyone."

"I pledge that I will help the North keep the Others at bay," the king vowed. "As long as I am alive, either here or in King's Landing. My realm will fight alongside the North and free folk alike."

"We must get ready to march south then," Ser Davos offered.

Rickon asked then, "When will we march?"

"As soon as possible," Stannis answered.

"We must wait until Jeyne passes," Arya was quick to add. "I will not leave her to die alone."

The king ground his teeth once more, but he acquiesced. 

"Fine. A sennight. No more."

* * *

The king left quickly, followed by Melisandre and Ser Davos. Clydas stood up and nodded towards Jon, still unaccustomed to him no longer being the Lord Commander. Tormund and Maege Mormont stood next, but before they left, Maege leaned in towards Arya and whispered, "Come to see me when you can talk."

Arya nodded and then looked at Jon, who gave a small nod of his own.

As the rest stood up and left the room, Arya stopped her older brother, with a hand on his arm.

"We need to talk."

"Fine," Jon said, and after looking around, he added, "but not here."

Jon turned towards Val, but she only nodded and walked out, in the same direction that Tormund and Maege had left. 

They ended up at the smithy, away from prying eyes and ears. Osha had looked at Rickon's siblings and then back to the boy she raised and told him to go with them.

"You stole a woman?" Arya asked Jon the moment they were inside.

"I did not _steal_ her."

"That's not what Tormund said," Arya added, crossing her arms in front of her. "Val did not deny it either."

Jon took a deep breath and then looked down to the ground, the angry scar over his eye prominent.

"Someone was hurting her. I only helped her."

"And what? Ended up bedding her by mistake?"

"It's not like that."

"Did you fight her?" Rickon asked, making Arya and Gendry turn to face him.

"She fought _me_ ," Jon replied.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Arya asked.

"If Jon intervened while someone was attempting to steal her," Rickon explained. "It means that he wanted her for himself."

"He didn't have to take her to his bed," Arya added.

Rickon shook his head.

"The moment he intervened, it was out of his hands."

"So, what was he supposed to do?" Gendry asked with knit eyebrows. "Just let someone else take her against her will?"

"If he walked away," Rickon spoke a bit smugly for knowing more on the subject than his sister and good brother, "men would take turns trying to steal her. Val is the sister to the King-Beyond-the-Wall, and she's good looking. I imagine once one tried, many would want a chance. She would have had to fight them all. As long as she killed them, she'd remain free, but the one who defeated her would take her for wife. She's a strong warrior, but I do not know if she would have been able to fend them all off."

"What did you do?" Arya asked then, turning to her older brother.

"Nothing."

"He took a beating, is what he did, according to those who saw it," Rickon sneered. "Val had her knife against his neck."

"Why didn't she kill Jon?" Gendry asked.

Rickon shrugged, "She made a choice."

"Does this mean that you're married now?" Arya asked.

Jon looked up and pursing his lips, he said, "In a way."

"In _every_ way _that counts_ , for the free folk," Rickon corrected him, with a wide grin.

"I did not ask for this."

"I'm sure," Arya scoffed, with her eyebrows arched high.

"I wouldn't be throwing stones, dear sister. Your reasons for marrying were just as questionable."

Gendry cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Arya only narrowed her eyes at her brothers and asked, "Can we trust her?"

Jon thought for a moment, and after a sigh, he said, "She will fight for her people and Mance, but not for Stannis.|2 

He took another moment, and Arya wondered what memories had him longing for the past. 

"I can't speak for Val and say that being tied to me means any type of loyalty to the North, but she will not betray us," Jon explained. "Unless _we_ betray her." 

* * *

Arya remained where she was after her brothers left the smithy. There were too many things muddling her brain, too messy to put away in neat niches. She hadn't realized how deep in her thoughts she was until a loud clang brought her back.

Gendry banged on a piece of steel, not even bothering to put on his leather apron, nor the piece of steel looked like anything in particular.

"You're not happy," Arya said, standing close enough.

"Of course, I'm not," Gendry replied, right before delivering one more hard blow.

_Clang._

_Clang._

_Clang._

"It doesn't matter what Ramsay Bolton thinks, or whatever he wrote," Arya offered, trying to appease him.

_Clang._

_Clang._

_Clang._

Gendry lifted the hammer once more but grimacing, he set it to the side without hitting the anvil.

"It's not just that."

"What is it then?"

Gendry turned to look at her and said, " _I know what you're doing_."

"And what is that?" Arya asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I know you well enough to know you want us to give him back his wife."

"I will _not_ give him Jeyne."

Gendry looked down and shook his head. When he lifted his face, he had a sideways grin.

"No, that's not what you're planning."

"What am I planning?"

"You're going to take her face."

Air left Arya's lungs, and she felt cold again, and as bare as every night in Gendry's arms.

"It's a sound plan," she explained, crossing her arms.

"It's too dangerous."

"It's the only way to make it inside, past his guards. Why are you against it?"

Gendry flinched as if suddenly burnt by invisible sparks.

"Do you really can't see it?"

"Say it anyway," she dared him.

"Damn it, Arya!" He yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "You're _my_ wife!"

"Is this just because he wants something that belongs to you?" she asked, choosing to be mad at his possessive words instead of something else that lurked in the shadows.

Gendry let his head hang and closing his eyes to take a deep breath, he said, "I _know_ you _don't_ _belong_ to me, Arya, but you can't deny that there is _something_ that binds us together, beyond the promises we both made to your gods in Riverrun."

Arya bit her lower lip but said nothing.

Gendry got closer to her and pressed on, "Tell me I'm wrong."

His hand came to her jaw, and he tilted her chin to look into her eyes. Arya's eyes half-closed, basking in the feel of his rough finger pads on her cheek. Her own hand came to his chest, and she clutched the fabric of his shirt hard.

"You're not wrong," she said, opening her eyes. 

Gendry brought his forehead to hers, and then he spoke, "I'll go with you."

"No," Arya replied, bringing her hands to each side of his face, making him see her as she spoke, "he'll kill anyone that goes with her. I can't lose you."

"And what about what he'll do to you? You saw what he did to her."

"He won't," she vowed.

"I can't lose _you_ ," Gendry confessed, bringing his arms around her waist and holding her closer. "I won't let him hurt you."

"He won't expect _me_ ," Arya explained, trying to make him see. "I will defeat him and take my home back. You can cave in his head after that."

Gendry let go of her, and he paced the smithy like a penned bull. 

"He asked for _me_ to deliver you," he said after a while, turning towards her, "I will be the one taking you to Winterfell."

"Fine, but that's where you will remain, at Winterfell's door."

Gendry grimaced, already feeling impotent.

"And what do you expect me to do?"

"Bid your time until you get my signal. Then you, my brothers, and our armies will break into the castle."

Gendry stretched his hands towards her, and before Arya had time to figure out what was happening, he held her in his arms. He pulled her closer by the hips and bringing his head to the crook of her neck. He bent over in an awkward position, and, instead of getting her to his height, he was folded over, making her taller than him. Arya could feel his need for comfort, have her care for him, and make him believe that everything would be fine. She could sense his fear, in the way his heart thumped against her. Gendry nuzzled the bit of skin in between her shoulder and neck, and she ran her hand on his back, making a soothing sound.

* * *

Jeyne died two days later, with Theon's head on her lap, crying desperately, and Arya holding her hand. The last words she said were for Arya, _'Promise me.'_

Theon was taken away when he had no more tears left to cry, and Jeyne's body started to get cold.

Arya was left alone with Jeyne's body then. 

Despite all the sorrow the girl had caused her when she was little, it felt like a sacrilege to deface her body. She had done the rite before, but never on someone, she knew as much as she knew Jeyne. 

She was also a child of the North, and she had suffered in her name.

There was something ironic at realizing that Jeyne had been wearing Arya's face all that long, just as much as she had been wearing her name.

If Arya hadn't made her way back, would the North have rallied behind her just in name only?

Arya knelt in front of the body, and she said a silent prayer to the old gods for what she was about to do. She ran her hand over Jeyne's pale cheek, and she asked for her forgiveness.

"I'll collect on the debt that he owes us, I promise," she said to a girl who was no longer there, and she held on to her knife. 

Gendry had made sure it was sharp.

She would not miss.

When she was done, she carefully wrapped Jeyne's face in a piece of muslin, and then she placed another piece over the place where her face used to be.

She then cleaned her knife and sheathed it back in the scabbard by her hip. Her hand held onto the girl's wrist, and she mouthed _'thank you.'_

Leaving the room, she came face to face with Gendry, who had been waiting for her, leaning on a pillar.

"Is it done?" he asked, more to say something than really asking for information he already had.

"Yes," Arya replied, her hand holding the satchel close against her body, as her husband enveloped her in his arms. 

Outside of the cocoon of his arms, the bitter Northern wind stung, but right there, where she was, she felt nothing but warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more to everyone for reading. Thank you to the silent readers, and thank you to the great cheerleaders who leave comments. You are all the reason why this fic has gotten where it is. Not long until the end, I can say. Of course, this fic will not deal with absolutely everything, but this first part is getting closer and closer to the end. 
> 
> Okay, I'll take my awkward self to the side, hoping this chapter takes you (and me) from the stressful reality we're living through.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lady of the Vale deals with her ghosts. Maege reveals the document she had guarded beyond the wall. Last preparations before marching south to Winterfell and Melisandre makes an offering to the Lord of Light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like lately I always apologize with every chapter, so I won't.
> 
> Thank you all!

[ ](https://imgur.com/ly6jfOO)

Sansa had not intended to sit down at her dressing table with the large moon-like mirror. Long gone were the days that she'd stare at her reflection as her lady mother braided her hair, and she imagined that one day a handsome knight would crown her queen of love and beauty. 

It had been a cruel joke when it actually happened. 

Her young fair knight had placed the flower crown atop her head, and not long after, he even cloaked her with the blue and white colors of House Arryn. But for all her new husband's handsome face and jousting skill, their union was nothing like in the ballads. 

Harry had been rude to her when he believed her to be Littlefinger's bastard. And though he apologized and was courteous then on, even more so when he had learned her true identity, that first interaction had left a sour taste in her mouth that was hard to forget no matter how much sweet-talking her husband did.

That morning, she was busy tidying her rooms, picking her husband's discarded clothes that littered the place, when something caught her eye. As the new lady of the Vale, she now had servants who could do the chore, but her lady chambers were her domain, and she protected their secrets dearly. 

Sansa had been picking up Harry's clothes when out of the corner of her eye, a ghost moved as swiftly as her. The fleeting hue of auburn hair, the distinct shape of a high rosy cheek in profile, and the blur of busy hands with long thin fingers made her stop all of a sudden. The ghost stopped as well, and when she approached it, it came to her encounter. She had to sit by the mirror, to have her heart still its equal excitement and disappointment. Sansa's hair was of a similar color, and she tried hard to style it in the way Catelyn Stark used to. Her cheeks were high as well, chiseled similarly, but there was just enough wolf in her to make them different. 

Sansa missed her mother, dearly. 

She longed to feel her hands brushing her hair and braiding it in the Northern style. 

She spied in the mirror her Tully looks, the auburn hair, every day, lighter, as the last of the black dye washed out. 

Tully blue eyes and high cheeks. 

It had been so long since Sansa had recognized herself as a Tully. How many times had she had to remind herself she was a wolf while she was a hostage in King's Landing? She had to keep it hidden inside while she was forced to be a lioness, and then a feeble songbird held prisoner in a high cage. 

Two moon turns prior, she had been revealed to be Sansa Stark, but the joy of finally getting to wear her own name didn't last long. The night of her marriage, she was dressed in white and blue and cloaked a falcon.

Despite it all, sitting at her dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror, Sansa knew that she had to be a fish, slippery and hard to catch. 

A knock on the door distracted her, and her mother's spirit swam away.

"Come in," she commanded.

The girl curtsied and bowed her head as she spoke, "Excuse me, m'lady, Ser Brynden is awaiting you in your solar."

"Thank you, Ina. Please let him know I am on my way."

The girl curtsied once more and left. 

Meeting an uncle that she had heard so much about growing up had been a blessing from the Mother. The Blackfish was slippery, and he had found his way to her, despite Petyr's cunning ways. He had enough friends left in the Vale and plenty of secrets to barter his way up since his time as Knight of the Gate. Ser Brynden had come to her in her darkest time after Sweetrobin's death, and Sansa cried tears of joy when he told her Arya was alive and that he had even attended her wedding at Riverrun. 

After Ina left, Sansa stood up only after she schooled her face in the mirror. She was the Lady of the Vale, yet, Petyr Baelish was powerful and hid in every dark corner. He had managed to remain as a trusted advisor of her husband, and thus, she had to keep her true feelings and thoughts to herself. 

While Sansa knew her parents had gone against tradition when her lord father chose to sleep each night in her mother's chambers, it still stung when Harry decided to keep his own rooms. But despite the fright of the years under Cersei and then Littlefinger, Sansa had received an education on subtle power. From the moment she said to Harry, in Alayne's voice, _'I'll be all the spice you'll want,'_ —so much bolder than Sansa had ever been—she made sure to enchant her lord husband into coming to her bed daily. Night after night, bare and daring on her plush featherbed, Sansa knew the secrets to sing into her husband's ear. 

No, the intimacy of her lady's chambers was a sacred place where Littlefinger's hissing had no reach.

She stood up and set to rights the exquisite blue and cream silk of her gown and walked to her lady's solar. The moment she entered, her uncle stood up and bowed to her.

"Uncle," she greeted him.

"Dear niece, I must say I don't get used to seeing you in this color. It is hard not to think of your mother in Tully blue."

It seemed like the ghost of Catelyn did not only haunt her. Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head.

"Not quite the right shade of blue," she added. "Or of red."

"No," Ser Brynden agreed. "But it doesn't stop an old man like me from longing for those he has lost."

Sansa pursed her lips and nodded, signaling for her uncle to sit. Refreshments were already waiting for them, with lemon cakes and sweet tea. When Harry learned the pastries had been a favorite of hers when she was younger, he had commanded Dornish lemons to be brought through Gulltown to please his new wife.

_'Funny,'_ Sansa had thought about her husband's grand gesture, with her appetite for the cakes a bit spoilt, _'I doubt he would be so generous if I had been truly the bastard he thought he was being forced to wed.'_

"I've written to my sister," Sansa spoke, changing the subject.

Her uncle knitted his eyebrows, and after looking around, he said, "are you certain it is your sister who will read your words?"

"I made sure, and in any case, if Lord Baelish had intercepted my raven, I'm afraid I would already be suffering the consequences."

"What does your lord husband think about supporting your sister and Stannis?"

"He agrees a Stark must rule the North, but he hasn't made up his mind about Stannis."

"Any Stark or the one he married?" the Blackfish asked, arching one eyebrow.

Sansa smiled, "He _will_ agree with me."

"And what do _you_ believe, niece?"

"The North should be ruled by a Stark. The North should be free. I'm not Sansa Stark anymore; I'm Sansa Arryn. The North should be passed on from Stark to Stark."

"And what if that Stark was your sister? She has kept her name after she married a Baratheon."

"We must do what we must, my sister and I, to save the North. At the moment, it means I must be the Lady of the Vale, and for my sister, it means to fight along with Stannis Baratheon. There will be time, once the North is ours again, to decide who should lead it," Sansa replied as she poured the tea.

Ser Brynden nodded and took the cup from his niece.

"My lord husband agrees that the Lannisters are not to be trusted. With time, he'll come to agree with me with everything else."

The Blackfish grinned.

"Including Littlefinger?"

"Harry is not fond of Petyr's scheming to have him wed me, and the pantomime he made of the revelation of my true identity."

"Still, he has kept him in his court."

"Harry knows you must keep your friends close and your enemies closer," she replied.

"Lord Arryn is lucky to have made you his wife," her uncle stated, "and in more ways than one."

Sansa smiled, and she had to take a sip of her tea to hide the sudden blush at the memory of the previous nights' exertions. She had known well who her husband was before she married him, a man who did not shy away sharing that he had already fathered two bastard daughters. Despite Sansa having been a maiden on her wedding night, it was evident to her from the very beginning that her husband was a skillful lover. Sansa had prepared, though, surrounded herself with women who knew the arts of love. While she would come to her married bed inexperienced, she made sure to come keen to learn and for her husband to know she was open to experimentation. Sansa did not delude herself thinking that her husband's priority was to please her. Still, her enthusiasm and her intent to have Harry be convinced that she was always eager to seek her pleasure with him meant that her husband remained enthralled by the body of his new wife. 

Sansa had hope that she and Harry would one day find love the way her own parents had, but she no longer wished for the love of the ballads. She often thought about the parallels between her mother's experience and her own; in particular, she thought of her mother's treatment of Jon. Despite all her love and longing for her lady mother, Sansa could not justify her half-brother's cruel treatment. It had not been something she thought about back when they were all at Winterfell, and only then, when she was faced with the children her husband had planted in other women's bellies, that she thought of it. 

She wouldn't treat those girls the way her mother had treated Jon, making them pay for the sins of their father, but thankfully, those girls did not live under her roof. And yet, she would have to lie if she said that jealousy didn't sting her every time the girls were brought up. It was enough to convince her against seeking moon tea, and instead, despite all the perils around her, every night, she still prayed to the Mother to have Harry's seed quicken in her womb. 

"Fear not, uncle," Sansa said, when she finished her tea. "Lord Baelish will not be of our concern for too much longer."

"Is that so?"

"Unfortunately for him, I learned everything he had to teach me."

* * *

The three siblings left Castle Black at dawn with bows and quivers at their backs and their imposing direwolves by their side. They did not need to inform anyone that they intended to hunt in the woods southeast of Mole Town for them to make the assumption. The moment they entered the wooded area, though, they unstrapped their hunting gear and greeted the woman wearing thick furs who waited for them patiently. 

"Maege," Arya greeted her.

The woman smiled in a way that her skin crinkled at the corners of her eyes and mouth, with thick lines that hinted stories of a life well-lived.

The youngest Stark spoke then, "why did we have to come all the way here to speak?"

Maege looked at the three of them, and then she answered, "What I have to share is only for you and no one else. I've kept it safe for as long as it took, as I promised your late brother."

"And what's that?" Rickon asked.

"Robb's will," Arya answered before Maege.

"Aye," the older woman replied. "It's not the only copy that was made, but I'm certain that it is the only one that remains."

"Galbart Glover?" Arya inquired.

"Aye. He carried a copy, but he was taken prisoner at the Dreadfort. I cannot be sure, but that is what I heard."

"Does that mean that the Boltons know what was in the will?" Jon asked.

"I don't think so. Your brother instructed us to guard his will and keep it safe, but we were to destroy it and give another document with false information if captured. When I heard what happened to Galbart, I knew I had to make sure the will was preserved and kept out of our enemies' hands. That is why I made my way beyond the Wall. It was the only way to make sure it was kept safe."

Arya asked then, "You've been there all these years?"

"Except for a brief stop at Bear Island before I crossed the Bay of Ice, I haven't seen my home in years."

"What's in Robb's will?" Rickon asked, turning to his siblings and knitting his eyebrows when he realized neither of them had asked about it. "You two already know, don't you?"

Arya tried to smile, but it ended up coming closer to a grimace. Taking a breath, she tried to break it to her brother gently. 

"You have to understand that Robb thought that Bran and you-"

"Were dead," Rickon interrupted her. 

"Not just you," she continued. "Robb did not think I survived either, and he knew Sansa was married to Tyrion Lannister. Robb had to make sure Winterfell and the North would be safe."

Rickon turned towards their older brother and asked, "You?" 

Jon stared at Rickon's face. Despite him being young still, he looked almost like a man grown. Rickon was just about the same age Robb and Jon had been when they sparred together at Winterfell's training yard, feeling like grown men. 

He shook his head at the realization of how young they had really been. 

It also occurred to Jon that his little brother didn't know about the other secret Arya had shared with him. About the Stark girl left to birth him alone in Dorne. Jon felt the tickle of fear of his brother rejecting him when he learned they were cousins. 

"We must read the will, to make sure," was Jon's answer.

Maege bowed her head and brought a hand to her chest and under her furs, and she pulled a folded parchment. She looked at the siblings, and grabbing Jon's hand, she lifted it and placed the parchment on it.

"I was told to bring this to you," she said to Jon, "and handed it only to you when the time was right. Many things happened, and at first, I needed to wait, to make sure that the Boltons didn't know about your brother's will, and then to the right moment to hand this to you. When we finally came to Castle Black, I thought it was already too late when we learned you were killed. But now, I am pleased to have kept the promise I made to my king."

Jon looked at the folded parchment in his hand, the grey wax seal with the Stark sigil still unbroken.

"I haven't seen our wax seal in ages."

Both Arya and Rickon got closer, and Arya had to touch the ridges of the direwolf head.

"Break it," Rickon ordered. "We must read it."

"I'll leave you to it," Maege said. "I know what is written in it, and besides, this moment belongs only to you."

"Thank you," Arya said.

Maege adjusted her furs, and then she took Arya's hand and held it in between hers. It took Arya a moment to realize there was something in between their palms.

"This is for you. It is what you asked for before."

Arya took the small parcel that Mage gave her, and she put it away under her leathers. 

Her brothers were intrigued, but once Arya turned to them and said, "Women's business," they both looked back at Rob's will, opting for an awkward silence instead. 

Once Maege was out of sight, Jon broke the seal and opened the parchment, to find Robb's hand greet him. The wave of recognition licked at his feet, hinting at the memory of a feeling.

Jon and Arya already knew what was written in the document, yet, they did not know the language Robb had used. If the years since left their home had taught them anything, it was that the slightest detail could make all the difference. 

Robb had been careful to leave nothing to chance.

The will included Jon's legitimation as a true son of Eddard Stark as they had expected, which automatically placed him ahead of Sansa. Still, it also stated that their sister, having married Tyrion Lannister, was excluded from inheriting Winterfell. Robb had believed Arya, Bran, and Rickon to be dead, but now, recognizing Jon as a trueborn Stark automatically placed him before any of them.

"So that's it," Rickon said once Jon was done reading.

"I did not ask for it," Jon said.

"It doesn't matter," their younger brother said dejectedly. "Rickon Stark has been dead all these years; I'm only some wildling born to Osha."

"You are Rickon Stark, our brother," Arya said, holding on to her younger brother's arm. 

Rickon turned to face her, and he pursed his lips.

"It changes nothing," he added, and turning around, he walked deeper into the forest with Shaggy Dog.

Arya called his name, but Jon said, "Give him time."

They stayed there, in silence for a long while, until Jon spoke, "I can't do it."

Arya's head turned towards them, and she said, "It's what Robb wanted."

Jon thought back to when he and Robb were kids and played with wooden swords pretending to be knights. Every hero's name had been up for grabs until Jon had cried, _'I'm Lord of Winterfell.'_

_'You can't be Lord of Winterfell; you're bastard-born.'_

Robb had said it so matter-of-fact, without any malice. But there it was, a chasm too great to ever let Jon forget.

The memories came to him suddenly like knives in the night, and more and more, they brought faraway feelings. 

He wondered if Robb ever thought to that day when he wrote his will.

"Robb did not know that I was not Father's son." 

"You are his son. He raised you and loved you as much as if you were. You're stabbing him in the back if you say you weren't."

"How do you think I feel? He's the only father I knew!"

Only after the words had left his mouth, Jon realized he had yelled. Fury and frustration tasted foreign, like the first fruit harvested after winter.

"It's not fair to Sansa," he said after a while.

Arya knew too well what Jon was speaking about. Still, she understood what had been at stake and what had prompted Robb to do what he had to. 

"Sansa is Lady of the Vale, but Petyr Baelish's influence is too great still. Even if she is not married to the man Robb thought, his reasons for disinheriting her still stand. It's too risky to have her be the heir while Littlefinger is with her."

"And rob Rickon of his right? You?"

"I am as much a liability as Sansa is," Arya replied with a shrug. "I am married to a Baratheon, and my husband's uncle cannot influence the North. You are as much Stark as we are. Your mother was a wolf, a true Stark. The woman matters too, Jon. You have as much Stark blood in your veins as I do. Look inside, do you feel like a dragon? Do you want to go to Essos to be with a woman you've never met before because she is more your family than we are?"

Jon searched inside himself, looking for fire, but in his heart, there was only snow and winter, and Ghost, above all, Ghost. 

"No."

"Take his name then, do as Robb wanted. Be Jon Stark, since Jon Snow is dead."

Jon closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"I'll take the name, but not Winterfell," he said, opening his eyes and looking at Arya. "Robb wrote his will thinking Bran, Rickon, and you were dead, but you're not. I will take the name, but I come last."

"It's not the way it works, Jon," Arya replied, knowing all too well.

"Does it matter?" Rickon spoke, startling both Jon and Arya. "The North is rallying behind Arya, the Stark that came out of nowhere and took back the Riverlands and Moat Cailin, and journeyed north to prove the Bolton's treachery and lies. Fuck Westerosi customs! The North will rally behind the Stark that brings them freedom. I don't care who is Lord of Winterfell or King in the North. The only thing I care about is that it is a Stark."

Jon and Arya looked at each other and then at their brother. 

"How much did you hear?" Jon asked.

"Enough to know your mother was Aunt Lyanna."

"I met Howland Reed, Father's friend. He told me the story."

Rickon seemed to remember something. 

"When Bran and I were at Winterfell after Robb left, we met Jojen and Meera. They went north with Bran."

"Howland's children," Arya said with a smile, glad to hear that Howland and Jyana's children had survived, at least until they parted ways with Rickon. 

"He told Arya about what happened when they found Lyanna. They fought the knights of the Kingsguard that Rhaegar Targaryen left to protect her… and their son."

"You?" Rickon asked.

Jon nodded.

"I'm not a true Stark. I've never been a true Stark. This changes nothing."

"You're more wolf than dragon. Fuck whoever says otherwise," Rickon replied. "Three direwolves will take Winterfell back. Better to have them fight along with three trueborn Starks. Take the name."

* * *

Arya had been surprised when she didn't find Gendry in the smithy, and Satin was the one to tell her he had gone to their cell after having a conversation with Shireen and Ser Davos. The sight that welcomed her was nothing like she had expected. Gendry was sitting at the small table, with his head bent over parchments, and his eyebrows knitted in concentration, grasping the quill too tightly. 

"What are you doing?" Arya inquired, expecting his demeanor to change once he saw her.

"Leave now," he commanded without lifting his head.

"And why would I leave my own cell?" Arya asked, unable to hide a huge grin while she divested herself of her cloak and boots.

"So you don't see how truly atrocious the man you married is while's he's trying to write to his bannermen," Gendry replied, finally lifting his head to look at her.

"Shireen gave you work?"

"Yes, Shireen and Davos. I am to write ravens to our bannermen. We need to inform our people down in the Stormlands of our progress and plans to take the North back from the Boltons and march onto King's Landing. Shireen thought it made more sense to have me write the ravens, and she suggested it to Davos, who thought it a great idea."

"I must say," Arya spoke, walking closer, leaning back against the table, "I agree with my good cousin."

Gendry huffed.

"I told Shireen I could write. I did plenty of writing orders at Mott's, but she says I should be able to write ravens in the way of lords and that if Ser Davos learned their stupid flowery language, I can as well."

Arya laughed, and after taking off her breeches, she sat astride, facing away from him.

Gendry growled when she took her time to find a comfortable position on his lap, and her squirming made her perky behind rub all over him.

"Now, how is this going to help at all?" he said through gritted teeth. 

Arya completely missed his meaning, and instead, she said with a shrug, "I was educated at a castle. I can read and write in the flowery way of lords and ladies." 

After wrapping his arms around her, Gendry brought his lips to her ear and whispered, "' Til you were about eight, and then you were on the road with the likes of me. Forgive me, m'lady, but I doubt your penmanship or fancy language is much better."

That earned him a slap, but his wife's squirming felt nice on his still clothed cock.

"I'm not going to write it for you, stupid. And for your information, my writing is perfect."

"Then how are you going to help, pray tell, dear wife."

"Motivation."

Gendry's hand made its way under her loose shirt, and it danced around the dip of her bellybutton before it started creeping higher.

"And how do you plan to motivate me?" he asked, making sure his warm breath tickled her ear.

"Well," Arya replied, looking over her shoulder and grabbing the hand under her shirt to stall his progress, "I can start losing clothing the more and better you write."

Gendry leaned in, and with his hands on her hips, he rubbed himself against her.

"I would have written a lot more by now if you have come up with this scheme earlier."

Arya laughed and leaned back, planting a kiss on his jaw.

"Where were you?" Gendry asked.

Arya stayed there, with her head on the crook of his neck. She let go of his wrist, and Gendry wasted no time to cup her breast.

"With Tormund's wife, Maege. There was a lot to talk about."

"Your late brother's will?" Gendry asked, turning his head to nuzzle her temple.

"Aye. Maege had it."

"Have you and your brothers read it?"

"We have."

"What are you going to do?"

Arya shook her head.

"Jon doesn't want to be Robb's heir, but he may take the Stark name."

Gendry sighed, and Arya knew he understood better Jon's decision. 

"How do _you_ feel about it?"

Arya shrugged.

"I want Winterfell back. I don't need to be Queen in the North, despite whatever Stannis wants."

Arya thought for a moment what Rickon had said, but she was in no mood to bring that up and opted to do it later. 

"He's not going to like it, is he?" Gendry asked.

She lifted her chin, trying to look him in the eye.

"Do _you_ want to be King in the North?"

Gendry shook his head, grinning.

"I'm sure you need to be a Northerner and have the name Stark for that. I'm too bloody Southron, and the only thing I really want to be is your husband."

He looked down when the last bit came out, and he tried to gauge Arya's reaction. She looked away, towards the desk, but Gendry thought there was a hint of blush on her cheek.

"I don't want to talk about Stannis' plans. Not now, though."

"Did she say anything else I should know?"

"Well," Arya said with a sigh that unsettled Gendry, "she gave me something I asked her for yesterday, but it doesn't have anything to do with politics."

"What was it?"

Arya could hear the tension in Gendry's voice, but instead of reassuring him, she answered, using all her skill to keep her voice from giving away her excitement.

"Before Jeyne died, we talked about a woman's lot in life. Maege said a woman shouldn't be forced to carry a babe before she's ready."

"You told her about the pressure from my uncle and the red witch?"

"Aye. Maege offered to help, and today she gave me the herbs she mixed for me to brew my tea."

After she finished, Arya cuddled closer until her mouth and nose were against his neck, and she could smell pine soap, steel, and fire, along with the scent that was pure Gendry. With eyes closed, she felt him swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You mean…?," he finally asked when he put two and two together. 

Arya nodded, nibbling the skin on his neck.

Gendry stood up at once, twisting Arya in his arms in a less than graceful way, and she feared for a moment he was going to drop her, but instead, she was flung over her husband's shoulder. 

"What are you doing?!"

"Taking you to bed."

"Right now?" she asked, laughing.

"Have you drank your tea?"

"Aye."

"Then, yes."

Gendry threw her on the bed, with the same gentleness he would have given a sack of potatoes, and he then climbed on top of her. Arya's laughter was infectious, and Gendry buried his face on the crook of her neck until his own laughter died down. 

"I haven't gotten my moon blood yet," she confessed, once she calmed down.

"Are you late?" Gendry asked, raising his head, so they could look at each other while they talked.

"Not yet."

Their shared fears didn't know need to be voiced to be any more real.

"So you either are, or you aren't."

Despite Gendry's sudden serious look, Arya couldn't stop herself from making light of it, "I don't think there is a third option."

Gendry scrunched up his eyes and opening them again, he challenged her, "Go on, call me stupid."

Arya's hand came to his cheek, and she brushed it over his stubbled jaw.

"No, you're not stupid at all, despite how much I like to say it to make you mad."

Gendry lowered his head to capture her lips in a kiss, and then he spoke his thoughts without missing a beat, "If you drank the tea, I can't get you with child if you are not already, can I?"

"No," Arya replied, sensing the point he wanted to make. "I continued taking it, just in case the red witch was only toying with us."

Gendry's smile and a peck on the lips told her he was pleased.

"And if you are… it is not like I could get any more children in you, he said, raising his eyebrows. "And yes, I know that's not how it works."

Arya laughed more at his worried face than at the possibility that he didn't quite know how babes were made.

"Then," he said after a searing kiss that quelled her laughter. "Would my wife be interested in having me perform my husbandly duties?"

Arya bit her lip and asked, "What about your writing? I thought you promised Shireen you'd write the ravens to your bannermen."

"I believe my wife promised to give me motivation."

Instead of an answer, Arya grabbed his shirt and pulled him down over her.

Much later, with Arya's sleeping form over him, his fingers wrote over her naked skin all the things he worried she wasn't ready to hear from his lips.

* * *

Later that night, a celebration was called to have all those who were to march down to Winterfell have one night to let loose after the council had spent a good deal of time doing last preparations.

Arya had not shared yet that she intended to wear Jeyne's face, only that they would bring Theon, and she would conceal her identity to pretend to be the wife Ramsay had demanded be returned. 

The motley crowd at Castle Black was merry, and the different groups were more at ease mingling after a few rounds of ale had been served. Even Jon seemed to be a bit more like his old self as he drank next to Gendry.

He should have worried when he saw Tormund approaching them, with a horn full of ale from which he took large swigs, leaving his beard covered in foam.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be fucking your woman. The gods know that those first nights there is nothing else you'd want to do. Right?" Tormund asked Gendry, looking for confirmation.

Gendry felt uncomfortable, and he babbled away, "I don't know about that. Except for our bedding, it was very long before Arya, and I got to f-"

"That's my sister you're talking about," Jon pointed out.

Gendry grimaced, and he opted to drink to keep his mouth shut.

"The little she-wolf may be your sister," Tormund said, sitting next to Jon and bumping his shoulder, "but she's his woman."

"They've fucked in the smithy at least once," Rickon said, joining the group.

Jon didn't say anything, but he couldn't stop a grimace. Looking at his brother, he shook his head.

"Why do you look at me like that? It was Gendry and Arya! And anyway, I wouldn't act all bothered, after what people are saying about the night you stole Val."

Jon grimaced, while the rest of them laughed. 

"I need another drink," Tormund called. "Come, little one, let's get some hair on your chest."

Gendry took a sip from his tankard, and after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "I rather you hadn't heard that."

Jon shook his head. 

"She's your wife."

"And Val is yours. She is, isn't she?"

Jon took a deep breath, and after a sigh, he said, "In a way."

He thought for a moment, and then he corrected himself, "She is. In _every_ way."

"To married life," Gendry said, knocking Jon's tankard with his.

Jon stared at his good brother and said, extending his drink, "to marrying mighty warriors."

Gendry smiled and tilted his head, and added, "Who could slit our throats easily."

* * *

Arya eyed Val, sitting on her own in front of one of the bonfires, her face unreadable among the drunken raucous all around them. Arya walked towards her, and she sat down next to her. Val looked at her out of the corner of her eye, and after a moment, she nodded.

Arya looked around. She could see Rickon attempting to drink a whole tankard of ale in one sip as Tormund cheered. The ale spilled over his cheeks, and he had to stop, coughing violently, to Tormund's amusement. Not far from them, Gendry and Jon were toasting something. She couldn't tell what they were talking about, but Gendry's face broke into a wide smile that made Arya's chest fill with warmth. She suddenly felt eyes on her, and looking to her side, she could see Val eying her. 

"Are we sisters now?" she asked, getting Val's immediate attention. 

Val eyed Jon's sister carefully, and after taking a swig of her ale, she responded, "Aye. I supposed we're kin."

Arya nodded, and looking ahead to the flames, she added, "I must confess that I do not know much of the free folk customs, only what my brothers told me, and you know, they're…"

"Men?"

"Aye. I would like to know what it is like for the woman if you wouldn't mind sharing it."

Val pursed her lips and asked, turning towards Arya, "Do you think it savage?"

Arya shook her head. 

"Have you heard about the bedding tradition at Westerosi weddings?"

Her new good sister shook her head.

"After the wedding feast," Arya explained, "men will chase the bride, and women the groom. They'll usher them to their marriage bed and undress them on their way there. They'll cheer and yell lewd words until they get them both to their room, where they bundled them together in bed naked. After, they'll stay outside, listening, and telling bawdy jokes. Who are we to start throwing rocks?"

"Did they do that to you when you married?"

Arya smiled and looked back to the fire, feeling the heat on her cheeks that did not come from the flames. 

"No, I strapped two daggers to my thighs. I was not going to let them undress me in public."

"Two?" Val asked, arching one eyebrow.

Arya shrugged. 

"I wasn't going to let them do that to Gendry either."

Val smiled crookedly. 

"He must be a strong warrior."

Arya turned to her to understand her meaning.

"To fuck a woman that owns a direwolf," she explained, and after a moment, she added, "and who is a warg."

Her comment caught Arya by surprise.

"Jon told you that?"

Val narrowed her eyes and shook her head. 

"No, he didn't have to tell me. I've seen it before. You and your brothers, the way your direwolves follow you around without needing words."

Arya stayed silent for a moment and took a long swig of her ale.

Sensing her uneasiness, Val spoke again, "so is he?"

"What?" Arya asked, turning towards Val.

"Your man. Is he a strong warrior?"

Arya couldn't stop herself from grinning. 

"He is. But he is also stupid."

Val caught the way Jon's sister locked eyes with her man across the fire.

"Love often does that to people."

Val's words sank in just as Gendry was smiling at her the way he did whenever words seemed to be unnecessary. Arya's instinct was to say something, but whatever words came to her, they got stuck at her throat.

"How about my brother?" she asked instead, veering away from what she was not ready to address. At least not with a good sister she barely knew.

"Is he a strong warrior, or is he stupid?"

"He was stupid enough to steal two women without meaning to, but that's different."

"How does it work?" Arya asked again.

"Free folk women learn to fight just like men, and they know one day men will try to steal them."

"What if a woman doesn't want to be stolen?"

"She'll fight."

"To death?"

"If necessary," Val answered, shrugging her shoulders.

"And if he is the better warrior?"

"Then she knows that her man is worthy."

Arya thought for a moment and then asked, "What if she wants the man, but she's the better warrior?"

"She can yield."

Arya nodded and then said, "They say your blade was at my brother's neck."

Val stayed silent and looked back towards the fire. 

Arya knew not to press on, and soon Val spoke, "like I said, your brother stupid for having stolen two women without meaning to do so."

* * *

While his people were celebrating before their march south, Stannis walked away with the red woman. They had gone south, towards the woods, away from prying eyes. Melisandre had told him a sacrifice had to be made to R'hllor to ensure their coming victory, and he had acquiesced, even if his faith in the Lord of Light had started to falter.

But he had already gone too far anyway. 

Melisandre had built a fire herself this time, instead of having had some of his men bring her trusted brazier. Stannis watched her as she chanted and moved her hands over twigs and logs, the wood catching fire in her trail. 

As the flames grew, crackling piercing the eerie silence of the north, the king tried to spy victory, but he couldn't see anything beyond a great fire, growing despite a heavy snowfall, that turned into blood. 

"Your grace," the woman called, interrupting his vision, "your sword."

Stannis pulled the sword from his scabbard, and, holding it in both hands and turning it, he offered it to her by the handle. As Melisandre took it from him, he felt the blade slide from his hand, and only when she had taken it, he noticed the thin crimson line on his palm. He made a tight fist welcoming the sting that melted his numbness. 

The red woman missed the few drops of blood that stained the snowy ground, as she was too excited, placing Lightbringer in the middle of the bonfire. 

Her renewed chanting in her native tongue intrigued him once more, finding some sounds familiar despite their strangeness. 

Only when the fires had grown, and the blade turned red, and orange and then white-hot, the red woman turn around to face him. 

"It is time," she said, pulling at the ties of her red dress, to bare more of her breasts, and from the juncture of her teats, she extracted two twin vials, full of a black, red liquid that Stannis knew too well could only be blood. She had already shown him the blood she had collected from the night Jon Snow died, and he wondered whose was the other one. But that question was less important to him than what Melisandre was asking the Lord of Light to grant them. Despite all his doubts, he felt his faith reawakened, greedy with the possibilities. 

He walked closer, to stand shoulder to shoulder with her, and accepting the vial from her, he poured the blood over the flames at the same time as she did. The blood landed on the glowing steel, hissing at the touch. 

"It is done," she announced. "Take Lightbringer, Azor Ahai reborn."

Stannis' hopes deflated a bit, feeling they had been there before. Still, his hand grabbed the handle that had been left outside of the flames, and he lifted it. The glint from the sword pierced the night, and even if he had done that before already, Stannis felt the power of the flames that danced over the blade. 

"R'hllor favors our campaign," the king exclaimed, feeling empowered. "I can feel his strength, Lady Melisandre."

The red woman was feeling lighter, proud of the proof her god had not forgotten her. It was almost by instinct that she stretched her arm, reaching for the flaming edge of the sword, but when her hand wrapped around it, it felt as cold as snow. 

Her red lips parted, and she would have wailed her despair, but her king had gone for her hand and said, "It is fortunate the Lord of Light makes you impervious to fire, my lady."

Melisandre had looked at him, and schooled her face enough to say, "A priest or priestess of the Lord of Light cannot fear the flames."

While her king sang the praises of her god and spoke of how their enemies were to be cut in half with Lightbringer, Melisandre retraced all her steps trying to find where she had failed. 

The blood of two different royal houses had been combined over the flaming sword, and yet, the glowing fire on Lightbringer was nothing but artifice. 

R'hllor had rejected her offering. 

Melisandre scrunched up her eyes, trying to contain the tears born of rage. 

She was at a crossroads, and there was only one path left to take.

She opened her eyes, determined, more than ever, to please the Lord of Light and win his favor once more.

A better blood sacrifice had to be made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one is a big one, I'll try to get it out as soon as possible, but just bear with me.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and lovely comments.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A raven calls three direwolves to a weirwood forest and reveals a secret. The army of the alliance between Starks and Baratheons starts their march south. Inclement snowstorms hinder their path, and a long-feared horror finally comes to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very pleased to have managed to get this chapter ready in two weeks. 
> 
> A special shoutout to the Deviant Lord for his input in the strategy and to Topaz5465, whose comment this morning motivated me to work hard and finish the chapter today.
> 
> To everyone else who has read and/or commented, thank you. I couldn't have done it without you.

There was a rush that preceded every time Arya was pulled under Nymeria's pelt. Even inside a dream, she could feel it, dragging her under, just like when she would let herself sink to the bottom of the pool closest to the heart tree in Winterfell's godswood. This time it was not different. The rush she felt the night before they were to march south was far from her first wolf dream.

…but it was the first time she was not the only one swept by its current.

_'Pack,'_ a voice from another life cawed, spurring her on.

Nymeria's heart galloped as she ran through the snow in the direction of the woods, but despite the temperature lowering, her hind muscles were aflame. 

_'Pack,'_ the raven cawed again, with the same rhythm as the direwolf’s paws hit the frozen ground. 

_'Pack.'_

Arya felt that every time the voice called in her mind, it pulled her deeper, trying to chase a word that remained just a stride ahead. 

_'Pack,'_ it cawed just one more time, so close that Arya could almost taste it.

_'Bran?'_ Rickon said in her mind, joining the chanting voice of a brother Arya had longed for but forgotten what he sounded like.

Nymeria stopped right at the weirwood forest entrance at the same time as Shaggy Dog and Ghost arrived.

Jon spoke next, _'Bran? Where are you?'_

_'Come closer,'_ their brother beckoned from deep inside the forest. 

_'Is that you? Are you inside Summer?'_ Rickon inquired.

_'No, he guards outside, but I'm not inside his skin.'_

It was Arya's turn to ask, _'Where are you?'_

_'Beyond the Wall.'_

_'How can we hear you?'_ Jon asked.

_'The weirwood trees. They are all connected.'_

_'We're going south, to take Winterfell back tomorrow from the Boltons. Come with us_ ,' Rickon pleaded.

_'I must remain on this side of the Wall. It is not my time yet.'_

_'The Others,'_ Arya thought. _'How will you escape them?'_

_'I must stay on this side for as long as I can. The Wall must hold.'_

Jon asked, _'How can we reach you?'_

_'The godswood. Don't let the king burn it. As long as there are weirwood trees in the North, I will be all around you.'_

_'When Winterfell is our home again, will you come?'_ Arya asked.

_'When it's my time.'_

_'And if we can't get Winterfell back?'_ Rickon inquired, not afraid to voice the worry in everyone’s heads.

_'You will. The wall at the back of the godswood is still down. Have your men break into Winterfell through it. You will find a cave that leads to the crypts. Your men must wait there until nighttime and infiltrate the castle without them knowing. When Arya's time comes, you must storm inside and take what’s ours from the traitors.’_

_'Can you warg too?'_ Rickon asked.

_'Not just into Summer. All Starks can.'_

_'How?'_ Arya asked. 'We're _only pulled inside in dreams.'_

_'The pull is always there,'_ Bran explained. _'You don't need to chase it. Just stop running away from it.'_

* * *

Jon's mind floated to the surface, and it broke through the membrane with the same thirst for air as his second birth. Phantom blades dug into his flesh: bitter, warm, painful, exhilarating, harrowing, and soft, all at once. His bare chest heaved, with the silvery marks from the daggers glinting in the moonlight coming through the window. A delicate hand settled on his back, trying to soothe him as the unmistakable feeling of a naked breast grazed his side.

" _Ygritte_ ," the word bloomed out of his mouth without him calling for it.

The naked body pulled away as if suddenly burnt by the name of long-dead girl.

"No," she said, making him turn to face her. "It's Val."

Jon gasped as if suddenly the air was not enough for his lungs. He panted uncontrollably, and a painful whimper was all that came out of his throat. His fingersnails dug on the flesh of his neck, trying to scratch at the unseen vise. When his fingers got wet, he thought it blood first until he felt the streams flowing from his eyes.

"Shh," his woman hushed, pulling his hands away from his neck, leaving left angry red paths on the skin.

Her caress stilled him as the pads of her fingers slid up, climbing his arms until they reached the sides of his face. Val then pulled Jon gently towards her. Her touch was heated, and Jon let her burn his frozen flesh into life, as she pulled him down, to rest his head on a warm breast. She then lowered them both slowly onto the mattress. 

Jon did not remember the woman who had birthed him under the blazing sun of Dorne, but she let his wife soothe him, like a newborn babe at her teat, and he surrendered to a dreamless sleep dictated by the calming thumping of her heart. 

* * *

Arya woke in Gendry's arms early, eager to finally be making her way home after so many years. Her keen enthusiasm was quite the contrast with Gendry's sluggishness. Despite her encouragement for him to hurry and get ready, he grunted and dallied. With a quick peck to his frown, she told him she'd be waiting by the horses, and Arya left their cell for the last time.

She was getting her bags over her mare when she saw Shireen walking fast towards her. 

"You're up early. There still time until we start marching. The men are only loading the wheelhouses," Arya said to her young cousin.

Shireen's honest smile made the frozen side of her face pull tight.

"I'm excited to see your home, cousin."

"I think you'll like it," Arya replied, happy to find someone else who was almost as excited as she was. "I know it won't look like it does in my memories, but I can't wait to show you and Gendry the godswood, with the three pools and the glass gardens."

"I'm excited to touch the stonewalls,” Shireen confessed.

Arya smiled and added, "Are you as skeptical as your cousin is about Winterfell's warm walls?"

Shireen shook her head.

"Not at all. Where's Gendry?"

Arya smiled, tightening the saddle of her horse. 

"Sulking in our room, I guess, or in the smithy bidding the anvil farewell. Mayhaps I should remind him there is one in Winterfell. I bet that would light a fire under his arse.”

"I wish I could ride with you and Gendry instead of traveling in the wheelhouse," Shireen lamented.

"I'm glad you are coming, no matter how. I know the queen considered staying behind."

"It is getting colder. Father said that we could not risk staying all the way up here when winter-"

" _Is coming_?" Arya interrupted her.

Shireen smiled, and she seemed to be about to say something, but they both saw Gendry approaching them.

* * *

The day they were to start their march, Gendry woke up with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to keep Arya in bed, in his arms as long as he could, but she had slipped away. He fought the discomfort with physical effort, dutifully carrying their belongings and helping ready the horses, even doing one last-minute shoeing. By the time the first light started to shine, the only thing left to do was mount their steeds. Arya was already on hers, and she watched Gendry as he got his foot on the stirrup, and he swung his leg around until he was sitting on his mount. He couldn't avoid jerking and grunting at the sudden pain on his side.

"Your wound, I should check it,” Arya said, knitting her eyebrows and reaching for his reign, but Gendry swatted at her hand.

"I'm fine," he quickly groaned, trying to reassure her.

"You are _not_ fine. You're in pain. We're just about to ride for a moonturn, mayhaps longer, and then go into battle. It's not something minor. What if it reopened?" she nagged him.

"It has healed. It _won't_ reopen. I just pulled something when I mounted. It's nothing serious, _wife_."

"It is if it has you grunting and grimacing like that, _husband_."

"Let it go, Arry!” Gendry grunted, and his horse paced, tossing his head. 

Struggling to get his horse to calm down, he added," It's not _that_ which has me in a foul mood."

"Then what is it?" Arya asked, stretching her hand to rub his horse's head.

"Do you really have to ask?" Gendry said, placing his hand on top of hers.

Arya shrugged, and added, "I thought you'd be happy we are finally marching to Winterfell. I know I am."

"I am glad you finally get to see your home. More than that, I am pleased I will finally help you get there after failing you before, but…"

Gendry stopped, and after taking a deep breath, he sighed.

"But?"

"But you can't honestly expect me to be happy to go on with _your_ plan."

Arya stared at her husband, with a reproach in the grey flames of her eyes.

"Don't you trust me?"

Gendry leaned in with a hand on the back of her head, and he pulled Arya to him until their foreheads touched.

"I do. You know that I do."

"Then what is it?” she asked, her warm breath caressing his lips.

"I'm not keen on marching to present _my_ _wife_ to a deranged man who enjoys flaying and torturing women."

Arya did not have words after that, but she hoped that her kiss was enough to soothe her husband's heart.

* * *

Jon walked on the training yard, his steps hindered by the man who was desperately trying to plant his feet on the frozen ground and escape. Jon's gloved hand was tightly wrapped around the collar of the man’s leathers, but even as the white-haired man tried to stand his ground, Jon's strength dragged him forward.

Theon tripped and crawled at times, pleading desperately, "No, please, Jon! Don't take me back there! You don’t know what he will do!”

"Stop your squirming, Theon!" Jon grunted. “You will go with us.”

"Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak!”

The pathetic pleas softened Jon's heart a bit, despite the disdain he felt for the man who had betrayed his brother Robb. 

"You will go with us, and you will escort Arya. We will rescue you, I promise,” Jon forced himself to say to appease him. 

"You don't know him!"

Jon was fed up by the time they reached the horses. Val watched impassively, already atop her own horse, but Rickon walked towards them.

"You're scared," the young Stark said, looking at Theon, who quickly turned to see him, and he cowered on the ground. "I was scared once like never before or after. Do you know when that was, Theon?"

Theon kept his face down, and he whimpered.

"We were hiding in the crypts for days, in the dark and hungry. I didn't understand why. I was too young to know what you did to our home.”

"I'm sorry," Theon whispered.

"I kept asking Bran and Osha why we couldn't go back to the castle, where it was warm, and there was food. And I didn't know why we had to be quiet. I thought it a game at first, but no one called for it to end."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Theon continued apologizing between sobs, though Rickon went on.

"I didn't know what you did when you couldn’t find us. It was years later when my mother told me."

Theon wailed, remembering the moment, and he threw himself to Rickon's feet.

"I only want to ask you something," Rickon said, unmoved by Theon's pleading. " _What would you have done if you had found us?_ "

Theon wailed at his feet and kissed his boots.

"Would you have killed and skinned us and hung us up like the miller's sons?”

Theon braved lifting his face, big fat tears running down his gaunt face, and his grimace showing his missing teeth.

"I… I… I'm sorry. Please forgive me," Theon finally whispered.

"Do you want my forgiveness?” Rickon asked, prompting Theon to nod his head anxiously.

“Come with us to Winterfell then and help us get our home back,” Rickon ordered. “Come and face what you did."

* * *

A sennight into their march, Jon kept feeling the itch to pull on the reigns of his mare to make it turn around and gallop back to Castle Black, convinced he was never meant to leave it. While Arya seemed eager, marching back to their home, Jon felt more and more lost as they continued moving away from the Night's Watch seat.

The voice of the woman that had become his by luck or fate pulled him from his thoughts.

"Who do these lands belong to?" Val asked, looking around.

Jon looked all around to the snow-covered plains, the woods up ahead the west, and the Northern mountains. 

"The Night's Watch." 

Val seemed surprised at the response, and looking all around to the empty-looking lands, she said, "But crows don't live here."

Jon smiled and explained, "The Starks gave twenty-five leagues to the Night's Watch as a gift to support it, and later Queen Alysanne gave another twenty-five."

"Why do crows need so much land?"

"We-" Jon started to answer, but he stopped himself, once more feeling like he didn't belong. " _They_ don't. Not anymore, at least. In the past, there were so many more black brothers, and they farmed these lands. But that was long before my time. The people that live in the Gift pay taxes to the Night's Watch and that is what keeps it going."

Jon thought for a moment, and then he inquired, "Why do you ask?"

" _My people_ will need a place to settle down."

Val's words punched him hard on the gut. 

Jon realized that he was married to the woman, yet they did not share the same people. Jon wondered again where he belonged or if he would ever would feel like did. He had fled north to the Night's Watch to join something that could finally be his because he certainly didn't belong in Winterfell, and Robb's position as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North would never have been safe with him around. 

"Why do you look _like that_ when we're marching to your home?" Val asked.

"Winterfell is not my home," he explained to his wife, knowing what she meant without asking for clarification. "I'm not sure it ever was."

"Why?" she asked, spurring her horse to get closer to him.

"I was Lord Stark's bastard," Jon explained. "His lady wife made sure never to let me forget it. My brother's position would always be threatened as long as I remained there."

After thinking silently for a moment, Jon huffed.

"What's that?" Val inquired.

Jon looked back to where Theon rode behind them, his horse tethered to Rickon's, and Shaggy Dog trailing vigilantly behind.

"Theon, in the back," Jon replied. "He was my brother Robb's best friend. He belonged in Winterfell better than me."

"The traitor?"

"Aye. He was my father's ward."

"What is a _ward_?"

"His father started a rebellion, and he lost. His only remaining son was taken from him and raised alongside us in Winterfell, so he would be deterred from planning to rebel once more."

"He was a hostage?"

Jon smiled sadly and added, "Aye. Growing up, I felt like a _hostage_ belonged more in my family's home than me."

He took a deep sigh that made Val want to hold him until the sadness passed, but she let him speak when he was ready.

After a few strides of his mare, he continued, "I was so envious of him. He was at least highborn, and he had a proper name, despite his father's sins. I loved Robb, and Robb loved me, but he cared more for Theon."

"And he betrayed him." 

"He did. I joined the Night's Watch to prove that _I_ would never betray my brother and challenge his position. I wanted to prove that I could be honorable, despite being a bastard. And so, I joined something bigger than me that could wipe away the dishonor I came from."

"What dishonor?" Val asked, puzzled by his words.

"My father, Eddard Stark, he was the most honorable man I knew. Everyone said so; the only sin he ever committed was bringing his bastard son with him to his home after the war."

"Caring for his bastard and raising him with his own family was dishonorable, instead of leaving him behind?" Val asked, perplexed at the ways of the kneelers south of the Wall.

Jon smiled sideways. 

"It is, in Westeros."

They marched for a while without speaking, the silence around them only disturbed by the sound of hooves sinking in the snow.

"He wasn't my father," Jon finally said after a while.

His words made Val's head turn towards him.

"What?"

"Eddard Stark. I never knew, but my sister discovered it."

Jon's lips pursed, and he looked around, trying to hide the tears in his eyes, but failing.

"The irony is that he never betrayed his wife, even if she died thinking he did. Ned Stark went south to rescue his sister, stolen by Prince Rhaegar. He fought his way to save her, only to find her dying on her birthing bed, and he promised to raise her babe, never telling a soul that it was not his bastard. So you see? I'm not even Northern at all. I was born in Dorne, where there is no snow, only sand. They can't imagine what snow is like there, just as neither of us can imagine ever feeling heat like theirs."

Val's heart ached despite her wishes, caring for a man she had intended to hate.

"Who knows this?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the feelings.

"Only my siblings and Arya's husband."

"Not the king?" Val inquired.

"No, I'm the bastard son of a Targaryen prince. Many people would kill me for that reason only.”

Val let the information sink, and then she asked, setting her arm on Jon's to get his attention, "Why did you tell _me_?"

Jon turned to see her, and covering her hand with his, he added, "You are my family now."

* * *

A fortnight later, they had made their way through the snow and reached the Last Hearth. After they crossed the Last River, a third of their men split from the group and headed towards the Dreadfort. They had decided on a surprise attack on House Bolton's seat, anticipating that Ramsay would send for reinforcements. Archers were to be posted in strategic places to shoot down any raven leaving or arriving at the keep. With a bit of luck and the favor of the gods, old, new, and red, they believed they would be victorious.

Everything had gone according to their plans until then, and there was a palpable optimism amongst their troops. But after their host had split, the temperatures lowered, and the winds grew implacable. They were forced to camp when they entered the wolfswood by the Long Lake. It was early in the day to settle down, but it was clear that they would not be able to continue with such low visibility and with their horses refusing to take one more step. At least, the woods offered shelter against the snowstorms, and the tents were pitched as well as they could. Everyone hoped that the next day they would be able to continue their march. 

It wasn't to be.

The next day they attempted to continue. The men from the Northern Mountain clans, more used to the inclement weather, moved to the front, and they tried to get the rest to follow along, but they were able to advance only a couple of leagues. Tents had to be pitched again, and it was decided that they were to wait until the storms eased. They stayed one more whole day, and then two, and then three, and then everyone feared that they would have to remain there waiting for death.

_'Winter came,' 'Winter is here,' 'This is our death,'_ were the whispers repeated throughout their camp, which fueled King Stannis' frustration. 

Melisandre and the queensmen, devout to the Lord of Light, lit braziers, praying and chanting at night, zealous in their belief that the red god would burn through the snow.

The nights grew colder than anything Gendry had ever experienced. In the dark, he held on tight to Arya's naked body against his under their furs. If he ever believed that the forge fires had gotten inside him and kept a lit kiln in his chest, it was its biggest test yet. They made love every night, half out of the need to stay warm and half to make the fears about what awaited them at Winterfell remain at bay. When her moon blood came, it had been welcomed with enthusiasm, coupling despite it, in celebration of their victory over the red witch’s threats.

Still, there was something bittersweet about it.

Embracing, after they were sated, Gendry drew patterns on her naked back. His fears, once more returning, as soon as the afterglow had waned.

"I'll never be as good with a sword as you," he said, emboldened without Arya's eyes set on him.

Arya tried to turn around, but his lips on the crook of her neck halted her movements.

"Other men may feel bad about that, but not me," he whispered on the shell of her ear. "It makes me proud to see you wield a blade the way you do, even more, when it is one I forged. I know you can fight and protect yourself and others, but I'm still a man, and I still want to protect you.”

"I know you do, _stupid_ ” she purred with eyes closed at the tingling feeling on his voice, warm on her skin.

“You _are_ far better than me with a blade. There is no doubt about it. But I’ve always felt that making weapons and armor for you is the way I get to keep you safe."

"It's not the _only_ way," she said, finally turning around to face him. "I was not fighting alone at Moat Cailin."

"I know," he replied with a hint of a smile. "I know that. I'm not _that stupid_. But think for a moment about how _I_ feel. We're marching south so I can hand you over to the bastard that is known for flaying and torturing his captives, who will look at you and see the wife he literally _fucked_ to death."

Arya shuddered at the look of despair on his face.

"That's not exactly how Jeyne died."

"Still, I know what he did to her. I can't erase from my mind the way she looked and the terror in her eyes when she arrived, and she begged me not to let him have her."

Arya kissed him hard on the lips, and then she peppered kisses on his cheeks, forehead, and nose.

"He will not hurt me," she vowed, "and I will make sure that he pays for what he did to Jeyne and everyone else."

"I know you can," Gendry replied, brushing the sweaty hairs plastered on her face back. "But I am to give you up and send you in without armor or a sword."

Arya joined her forehead to his, and whispered, "He will not hurt me. I will not let him. _We_ will take him down _together_."

* * *

Gendry woke in the middle of the night with the vile taste of dread in his mouth. Arya stirred in his arms and buried her face deeper in his chest, seeking his warmth, but she did not wake. He tried to close his eyes and focus on the sense of peace that their intertwined and naked bodies always held, but the sound of their horses snorting and neighing chased slumber away.

There was something wrong in the night.

Gendry knew well the nights of the young Northern winter were still as death. No sounds were ever heard but the hissing of wind against their tents. That night, though, there was no silence. The agitation of the horses and a distant chatter let him know something was amiss. He extricated himself from Arya's embrace, and after dressing and tying his cloak around his shoulders, he dropped a quick kiss to his wife's bare shoulder, and he exited the tent. 

The dread increased tenfold when he looked at the night sky, lit with orange hues towards the back of their host, just outside the wolfswood. He didn't waste time, letting his fear form a clear thought, and instead, he ran to his horse, and he mounted it, taking off in a full gallop. The sound of his horse's heavy footfalls woke Arya up, fearing the worst when she realized she was alone under their furs. 

Gendry had never been a skilled rider, but one thing he had learned to do the hard way was to trust his gut feelings, and he wouldn’t let his lack of skill hinder him. He gave just one look back to the tent where he had left his sleeping wife, and closing his eyes tight for a second, he hoped that his gut was wrong. As he exited the wolfswood, it was clear that despite his hopes, he had been right all along, as he could hear yelling and the unmistakable sound of the crackling of fires. All around the wooden structure in front of him were the lit braziers the believers of the Lord of Light used for their nightfires. As he approached, he saw the queensmen lighting torches with the braziers' flames and using them to make the twigs catch fire.

Once he got close enough, to his horror, he saw that in the center of the structure, his cousin Shireen, still in her nightgown, was tied to a post, gagged to avoid her screams alerting the rest of the camp.

Gendry saw red.

He jumped off his horse and ran towards his cousin, elbowing and pushing away the queensmen and believers of the Lord of Light who chanted as they stood and stared as his cousin was about to be sacrificed. Some of them tried to stop him once they realized what he was meant to do, but Gendry punched them and continued making his way to Shireen. When he was close enough, his cousin's eyes set on his, and the look in them squeezed painfully at his heart. Without thinking, he ran to the flames, but a hand stopped him, holding on hard.

The red woman yelled, "It is the will of the Lord of Light! The blood of kings shall burn in the kindling of the false gods wood."

"Fuck your red god and his wishes!" Gendry yelled back, pushing her away, and trying to make his way to Shireen, the flames advancing rapidly over the kindling towards her.

The red woman held on to Gendry's arm once more, and it was then that he saw the bright orange and light yellow metal at the center of the fire, glowing like a piece of steel waiting for Gendry to shape it. By instinct, he reached for it and held on to the raw steel, only a few bits of scorched leather left on it. Without a second to think that he wore no gloves to protect him, Gendry pulled it out of the flames, feeling the heat radiating from it. 

"No!" the witch wailed. "R'hllor will forge Lightbringer out this sacrifice! He will bestow his favor on Azor Ahai as he wields it!"

"I told you to stay away from my family!" Gendry yelled, as he thrusted the sword gracelessly but with all his might, impaling the red woman in the chest. 

The red eyes opened wide, and then they looked down to where the sword was embedded in her.

"I can feel it," she said, with a grimacing smile. "I can feel the fire of Lightbringer.”

Gendry didn't care for whatever else she had to say as he turned back to reach Shireen, flames starting to lick at the hems of her gown and catching it on fire. Gendry could feel the hair on his arms singeing as he jumped on the structure, and he continued making his way to his cousin despite the unmistakable sensation of burns on his legs, through his leather breeches and boots. He had no time to care about it as he untied the rope that restrained Shireen. 

Arya had dressed hastily, and she roused her siblings and others with her yelling. She then mounted her mare and galloped to the back of the host, hoping to get there on time, when she saw the glowing sky. She saw at a distance the moment when Gendry jumped off his horse, and she spurred hers to catch up. By the time Arya reached the bonfire, Gendry was already braving the flames to rescue Shireen, after seeing the moment when her husband had buried the sword in the red witch's chest. She tried to run into the fire, but she was stopped by arms wrapping around her. When she turned to see who it was, she was surprised to find it was her brother Jon.

"I need to get to him. Let me go!" Arya yelled, squirming to get free.

Jon held on tighter and yelled, "You can't!"

"Fuck, Jon! Gendry is in there! I need to help him get Shireen!"

Her brother did not loosen his hold, and forcing her to look at him, he said, "He _will_ get her."

Arya squirmed and hit her brother with all her might, but he didn't budge. When she looked back at the fire, he was Gendry coming out of it, with Shireen in his arms and people helping them, putting out the fire on their clothes. Only then, Jon let go and Arya ran towards Gendry but stopped just before him at the sight of his young cousin crying in his arms, both of them prostrated on the snow. Gendry looked up to see her, and he smiled at her, kissing the top of Shireen's head, both their faces stained with soot. 

"Shireen!" the voice of the King pierced the night.

At the sound of her father's scream, Shireen pulled herself from Gendry's embrace and stood up. The moment she saw King Stannis running towards her, she sobbed and ran towards him. Both embracing tightly when they met. The sweet moment was short-lived, though, when Queen Selyse's wail got everyone's attention.

"What did you do?!" she yelled at Gendry. "You will burn for this! You had no right to stop the offering to R'hllor!"

Gendry stood up, still clutching Lightbringer in his hand, the blade still glowing orange.

"You almost killed her!" He yelled at the queen. "Your own daughter!"

Everyone was listening paralyzed.

"She is _mine_ to sacrifice, not yours."

Gendry clenched his teeth, blind rage pushing him to charge against the queen, but right then, Lightbringer was ripped from his hand. It took him a second to realize it was Stannis who had done it, and in two strides, he was just in front of his wife, his sword hand swinging back and then immediately forward, embedding itself on her lower belly. A collective gasp was heard, along with a whimper from the queen's throat. 

"No! You killed _our_ son, quickening in my belly," Selyse cried.

"We are even then, _my lady_ ," Stannis replied, pulling his wife closer with a hand on her waist, digging the sword deeper, in a macabre lovers embrace.

He lowered her gently on the snow, with all the gallantry he never had for Selyse during their marriage. The queen gasped desperately as she stained the snow crimson.

"Queenslayer!" The voice of Axell Florent woke everyone around from their stupor.

The queen's uncle charged towards the king, but at once, the sound of dozens of swords unsheathing clamored like a war cry. Gendry was unarmed after Stannis had taken Lightbringer from him, but he heard his name yelled, and turning, he saw Rickon tossing a dagger to him with one hand and holding its twin with the other.

The skirmish was brief, but by no means insignificant. By dawn, there were only the bodies of Selyse and the queen's guard, littering the snow. In the place where Melisandre fell, the only thing that remained was the ruby necklace she never took off in the middle of a pile of ashes. 

As soon as the battle had ended, Stannis had searched desperately for Shireen, and he had held her tight against him, mumbling apologies. Only after both of them had calmed, he turned to look for his nephew. Stannis embraced Gendry like never before, and then, he fell to his knees, crying. Gendry knelt in front of his uncle, and he set his hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. The intimate moment made Gendry uncomfortable, but then, he was thankful when they were interrupted by Shireen's cry.

"Father! Your hand!"

Stannis raised his right hand in front of him; his palm covered in deep red welts, blisters, and blood.

"Lightbringer," the king explained, picking it up from the snow. "It never burnt me before."

He held the sword that was rapidly cooling down with both hands, as he offered it to Gendry, who took it from him with uncertainty.

"Take it, nephew. It clearly chose who is meant to wield it."

"Are you sure?" Gendry asked.

"I am. I could never wield the sword that was forged out of the sacrifice of my daughter."

Gendry nodded, and the king stood up, walking away, clutching Shireen close to him.

* * *

Despite it being daytime, Arya and Gendry went into their tent to sleep. It was determined that they could not continue their march until the dead had been buried. Inside their tent, Arya helped her husband out of his clothes and shed hers as well. Sitting on their furs, she carefully cleaned the soot off Gendry’s skin, and washed the burns on his arms and legs. 

Arya looked at the burns with concern, and then, her hand traced the healing wound on his side, halfway between light pink and the silvery look of healed scars. 

Gendry captured the hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

"You're only jealous because I will have more scars than you," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Arya shook her head, coming closer to him, to sit astride his lap.

"You are a _stupid man_ who shouldn't have left me like that in the middle of the night."

Gendry pursed his lips, knowing full well what Arya was feeling.

"It is hard to be left behind," he recognized.

"Aye," she replied, and she did her part admitting his concern. "But it must be done to keep the pack safe."

"I trust _you_ ," Gendry admitted, digging his fingers on the back of her hair. "But I am scared _shitless_ to lose you."

"As I am."

Gendry leaned in to kiss her deeply, and then, he kept his forehead on hers.

"Let's make a pact. Neither of us is allowed to die, and leave the other one to mourn."

Arya smiled and brought her lips to brush against his.

"What is the alternative, then? You know _everyone_ must die."

" _Together_ , that is the only way. And of old age, if I'm allowed to be greedy."

Arya opened her eyes to look carefully at her husband, and pulling his right hand to her lips, she kissed the unblemished palm. 

" _Together_ , in our bed when we're grey and wrinkled," she agreed.

Gendry smiled, and holding on to her arse, he rubbed her against his rapidly stiffening cock.

"What are you doing?" she asked in between kisses.

"Sealing our pact," he replied, finding her entrance, and lowering her around him.

There were many things to fear still, but they could go back to worrying about them the next day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all once more. I am dying to know what you thought of the last scenes since I've been looking forward to it. I hope to have done it justice. 
> 
> Oh, and if I interact with you in other mediums, and I do not seem to have made the connection of who you are, please put me out of my misery. I am oblivious like that. 
> 
> Thank you all!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against his wishes, Gendry waits for the Winterfell drawbridge to be lowered, to relinquish Arya and Theon to Ramsay Bolton.  
> Meanwhile, Rickon and Jon will wait in the crypts for the wolves to come again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extra two days, but sometimes you need the time and distance for the words to be better. You'll see that I have added one more chapter to the count. Hope you enjoy it.

[ ](https://imgur.com/kOdMB6x)

With his head resting on the creamy skin of his wife's bare lower belly, the newly named Lord of the Vale, Harrold Arryn, stared at the auburn tendrils of Sansa's hair fanned over plush pillows. In the lowlight from the candles and the glow coming from the hearth, he daydreamed them as a fiery halo that crowned her head.

Her body was still blushed and supple from performing her wifely duties, and her icy fingers ran over his sandy hair, making his spine tingle. Harry wasn't in a hurry to go back to his rooms, despite his earlier plans, as his new bride always found a way to weave stories that he was only too eager to hear while they lay intertwined on her bed.

That particular night, with Harry's ear firmly planted on her belly, Sansa wondered if her lord husband was looking for proof that he had finally planted his heir in her womb, like a boy who desperately searched for oceans in a shell. 

"I like your hair," she hummed, her voice low and velvety.

Harry looked up at her, keeping his head against her skin. 

"Do you, _dear wife_?"

His terms of endearment still sounded empty to Sansa, like the pleasantries noble children learned and repeated absentmindedly. She wondered if one day, those words would dangle full and heavy with emotion, like ripe fruit begging to be picked. 

"I do," she replied, continuing the massage on his scalp. "I hope to give birth to children with hair like yours."

Harry smiled, pleased and Sansa knew he'd stay in her bed a bit longer if she upped the ante of flattery with more substance.

"They say you look like your uncle Jon in his youth. _Our_ people are excited to have such a handsome and strong lord. Seeing Jon Arryn in you, on top of everything else, has brought happiness and renewed hope for the Vale."

Harry turned to place a kiss on her navel, and Sansa felt emboldened to continue spinning her story.

"I loved my dear Sweetrobin, the gods know I did, but he was no falcon. He didn't favor the Arryn look, and he was so sickly, the poor thing," Sansa said with eyes cast down, but her fingers continued her labor.

Harry was thoughtful for a moment, and then he spoke, "He was never fond of me."

"My aunt Lysa was to blame," Sansa explained. "She made him so distrustful of everyone and everything. Who knows what would have happened if your uncle had gotten a chance to raise him."

"You think it would have made a difference?"

Sansa nodded.

"Your uncle raised my father, did you know? He was the best man I ever knew, and he always credited Jon Arryn with making him who he was. He loved him so that he named my brother Jon after him. I'm sure my father would have been pleased with our match."

He must have seen something glinting in her eyes, for the way he got in all fours and climbed up until his body covered hers, claiming her mouth. After kissing her thoroughly and prompting her to hold him with arms and legs, he nuzzled the alabaster skin of her neck.

"That would make it the second of your fathers to have been pleased with our match then," he said playfully before licking the crook of her neck.

The sudden stiffness of his wife let Harry know that his jesting comment hadn't been received the way he had intended it, and pushing himself on his forearms, he studied the way Sansa tried to look away. 

"Did I unknowingly offended you, my lady? I would have hoped never to insult you again."

Sansa scrunched up her eyes and shook her head as if trying to dismiss images from her mind. 

"No, it wasn't anything _you_ said," she explained, making sure to keep her eyes away from him, and after a moment, she added, "…or did."

Harry's soft fingers turned her chin until she was looking into his eyes, and after a few seconds in which he seemed to think hard, his nostrils flared, and he asked, "Who then?"

Sansa knew her song had lured him exactly where she had meant to all along.

"You mentioned my two fathers. I only had one father, and despite what the Lannisters did to him and their slanders, he would have never done what Lord Baelish did to trick you into marrying me."

Harry tilted her chin once more at that.

"I wouldn't have needed a trick to marry _you_."

"But you did, to agree to marry Alayne."

Sansa knew she hit her mark when her husband pursed his lips and attempted a retreat, but her thighs squeezed tighter around his lower back, keeping him in place. 

" _You_ were wronged."

"Is that what you believe?"

Sansa nodded and tilted her pelvis up to convince him. Harry's groan let her know that she was mayhaps more persuasive than she should have, and she had to keep him on topic. 

"There was no way for you to know that I was not truly his bastard."

"You seemed so..." Harry whispered against her lips.

"So what, my lord?"

"So… in tune with Lord Baelish."

"I did what I had to survive," Sansa replied, trying to blink some tears that had come to her eyes more quickly than what she had planned. "He had all the power, and I had none."

His thumb caressed her cheek, and he added, "I cannot believe I didn't see through it. I thought his ambition was simply due to his fatherly devotion."

Sansa let out a low, choked sob. 

"His devotion to me was anything but _fatherly_."

Harry pulled himself from her embrace, and he sat up, pulling Sansa to sit astride him. 

"Did he try anything?" he said, his words tinged green with jealousy.

"I was still a maiden when I came to our bedding, you know this. He would have never jeopardized my honor, but that did not stop him from taking some… liberties."

"I'll kill him," he said, trying to move her away from him to get up, but Sansa stopped him.

"No, stop. It was just the way he looked at me. It was not me he wanted, you see, it was my mother. Petyr loved her since they were children, but she rejected him. My aunt Lysa loved him, and they became lovers. I suspect they never stopped, not even when my aunt was married to your uncle. He kissed me once, when…"

Sansa stopped and bit her lip.

"When, _Sansa_?"

Harry seldom used her name.

"He kissed me once, and I was paralyzed with fear. I did not know what to do. My aunt saw it, she became enraged, and she almost threw me out of the Moon Door!"

Sansa threw herself against her husband's chest, more affected by her story than she had planned. 

"What happened then?" he asked, brushing her auburn tresses back.

Sansa swallowed, and holding herself to him, she whispered in his ear, "He made her fly."

* * *

After the near-sacrifice of Shireen, in the last fortnight of their travels, Gendry grew quieter. His words, already so sparse, trickled down to merely grunts. Arya could hardly blame him for it when the threat of going alone and unarmed to Ramsay Bolton's lair still loomed above their heads. Every night, when they lay together under the furs in their tent, Gendry's silence seemed to spill over, but he tried to express with his body all the things for which he did not have the right words yet. 

Arya tried as well, and she hoped that Gendry could understand the promises she made in silence. She doubted her feelings had gone unnoticed, but she still feared, after so many years, that the moment the words were said aloud, fate would be tempted to rip Gendry away just as it had already taken so many of her loved ones.

And so, instead of saying anything, she responded to his body in kind. In the feverish encounters, she fed her fantasies: of Gendry shaping the steel inside her with the same care and devotion she had always admired in his work.

During the days, though, Shireen had taken to follow Gendry whenever Stannis was not around. It broke Gendry's heart to see her trying to hide her face behind her hair again. Gendry cursed the despicable woman who, despite birthing her, had not had an issue letting Melisandre tie her to a pole to kill her in the most painful and horrifying way possible like she had not been the babe at her breast once. Gendry could hardly remember his own mother, and losing her had been one of the worst tragedies of his life. He was sure, though, that despite how much he suffered, the rejection Shireen had just experienced was far worse.

His cousin had burrowed a way into his heart, not just because they shared the blood of the stag. The effort she put in helping him with his letters, never once making him feel ashamed about his low birth or all the things he didn't know, convinced him of the generosity of her heart. 

Shireen had cried, the day after he had saved her from the flames, against his chest, leaving his shirt damp. Gendry didn't care about the tears. He had hardly felt them, too distracted by the dull ache that Shireen's gratitude caused him as if it had been a great sacrifice, jumping into the pyre to rescue her. 

The love between the cousins didn't make Gendry less awkward, though, and Arya would grin whenever she saw him struggle. The last time had been while they sat on a log by the fire, and before leaving to go back to the tent she shared with Stannis, Shireen had turned around and hugged Gendry hard before running away.

Arya had chuckled loudly, holding on to her stomach, achy with the effort from her laughter.

"Go on, mock me."

"I'm sorry," Arya apologized, struggling to calm down. "I really am. I've never seen anyone suffer the way you do with something as innocuous as a hug."

"It's not that I suffer!" Gendry barked.

"What is it then?"

"I just don't know what to say," he said, standing up and throwing his hands in the air as he paced. "Shireen keeps thanking me like I did something extraordinary."

Arya stood up and walked to join Gendry, wrapping her arms around him and tilting her head up to see him.

"You did."

"I didn't have a choice," he replied, embracing her back. "It's easy to do things when you don't have a choice."

"That's what I l-"

Arya stopped herself, and after taking a breath with eyes closed, she continued, "Why _Shireen_ feels what she does. Because it was the most natural thing for you to do."

"It must look stupid. The way she keeps my company now, and how I have no fucking idea what to say."

Arya shook her head.

"No, it's heart-warming," Arya explained, walking back to sit on the log and patting the place next to her for him to sit.

"And besides," she continued once Gendry sat next to her, "it only convinces me that you'll be a good father."

Gendry turned towards her, his eyes as wide as they could get. Arya felt the flame of his stare, first searching her eyes and then looking down to her midsection.

"No! That's not my way of saying _that_!"

Gendry looked down, hiding the blush on his cheeks.

"I worried for a second."

Arya stayed quiet, but she leaned against his shoulder, and her hands circled around his torso, prompting his arm to hold her close. With eyes closed, she tried to make the moment by the fire last a small eternity.

* * *

Their last camping ground was set in the wolfswood past the ruined watchtower just north of Winterfell and away from the kingsroad. From there, they could already see the silhouette of Winterfell ahead. The last night they spent there was long with uncertainty. Two days before, their host had split once more, as the small group commanded by Jon had continued advancing through the wolfswood avoiding the kingsroad, so they could find the fallen wall at the back of the Winterfell godswood. He had been followed by a large group of free folk commanded by Val and the remaining men of the brotherhood without banners. Jon was grateful to have Harwin with them. While they had not had talked at length, the idea of someone else who considered Winterfell home and who was as invested and fearful as him was reassuring.

There had been an argument about Rickon going with them, the moment they had discussed the plans for the group that was to infiltrate the castle before the official arrival of _'Arya'_ and Theon, escorted by Gendry. 

"I want to go with you," Rickon had said, the light from their fire painting shadows on his face and showing how his jaw clenched.

Jon looked up at him, and then to Arya and after that, Osha. The knowing looks enraging the young Stark even more, enough to make Shaggy Dog growl.

"You know what we're going to do," Jon spoke then. "We are going into the crypts and stay there until we can infiltrate their forces before dawn."

"You think I'm not capable?! Am I too _wild_ for that?" Rickon yelled as he stood up, towering over everybody around the fire. " _Or just not enough Stark?_ "

"No, it's not that," Arya explained. "We've heard what happened to you and Bran. I know that you waited in the crypts for days. Are you sure you want to do it?"

"It's my home too," the man was once her baby brother said. "I will take it back."

* * *

The night before Arya and Gendry were to finally arrive at Winterfell was a long one. Gendry chastised himself for not going to sleep early, so they could be well-rested before the battle. Instead, he took all the time they had to love his wife. It wasn't a rushed union, but a lengthy affair, both taking the time to explore each other like it was the first time. 

But more than anything, they tried their best to forget that it may well be their very last time.

After their peak, they stayed close, holding each other, hands running over each other's backs, and whispering sweet-nothings into ears and against heated skin. Arya had almost succumbed to slumber when his caresses started searching to spark her desire anew. That second time had been nothing like the first, his fervor tinged with desperation. Arya let herself be pulled by the waves of his desire, trying to keep up, with lidded eyes. She held on tight to his shoulder blades, drunk on the wildness and the fury. The frenzy of his love-making, right before she was to leave him, turning into something so disarmingly sweet that it made her ache.

Her hands searched for his face, and cradling it, she brought her lips to his tightly shut eyes, kissing them until they softened. 

When he lost his pace, and he opened his eyes to search for something in hers, she spoke, brushing back his sweat-sleeked hair.

"You want me to meet him with the marks of your teeth and your scent on my skin, and your seed staining my thighs."

The words that had meant to be teasing bit in a way he knew she hadn't intended.

"I don't want you to go to him at all," he replied, disentangling himself from her and turning to the side of their rolling mat. "And anyway, for him to find all those things, he'd have to see you bare. I rather he didn't get the chance."

Arya sat up and kneeled behind him, setting her chin on his shoulder and holding him with an arm under his armpit and the other one around his neck.

"I didn't mean it like it's a bad thing," she added, kissing behind his ear.

"But it doesn't change the fact that it is true," he said, holding to her entwined hands by his neck and bringing them up to kiss her knuckles. "I know you can protect yourself, but every time he called you _his_ in that pink letter, I wanted to ride down there myself and cave his head in."

"We've always trusted each other, no matter what. Trust me now again."

"I do."

Arya brought one of her hands to the side of his face, and she gently pulled him, so he had to turn to get him to her lips. 

After a slow kiss, she added, "I'm not _his_."

"I know that, but-"

Arya interrupted him with her fingers on his lips.

"I'm not his, no matter what he wrote in the pink letter, or whatever he says. He is not the one that needs to be reminded of that."

Gendry pursed his lips and scrunched up his eyes as he nodded, but Arya continued pulling him over her until she was once more with her back on the mat, and Gendry was hovering over her. 

"But I think we should keep reminding each other of that."

* * *

They had advanced through the forest in silence, communicating only with raised hands and gestures, and in the back of his mind, Jon could sense a tickle, another presence there without having to address it. The stone wall was as they had been informed, down in the dense foliage, years of moss and fallen snow making it slippery. They all crossed it in silence, and Jon could taste a memory that he had not lived as he climbed over the wall back into the place that had been his home. 

As he ran through the godswood, he felt transported back to his past. He kept looking out of the corner of his eye, convinced that Robb would come running, laughing hard along Theon. 

He ran along with the others, careful to not make a sound beyond the dull footfalls compacting the fresh-fallen snow. For the first time, his mind felt split as he ran along with Val, to her left and flanking her on her right in all fours. As he looked ahead, one eye red and the other grey as dark as slate.

Shaggy Dog and Ghost had found the cave entrance before anyone else, and despite Jon never having seen the entrance before, he led their group with ease in the dark. The tunnel was narrow and long. Much too long to continue, bent down, and they were forced to crawl in all fours in some stretches. Anyone else would have given up, convinced it was only a shortcut to certain death if it weren't for Bran's words encouraging him and Rickon to continue. Ghost and Shaggy Gog were leading, squeezing themselves to fit. After a while, the path broadened, and the ceiling receded. Still, they walked with heads bent for a long time, going deeper and deeper underground.

'Stand tall now, Jon,' Bran ordered him. 'There is a torch on the wall on your right.'

Just as his brother told him, Jon palm around blindly until he found it, and next to it, two pieces of flint to light it. With the newborn light, Jon saw that they were in one of the crypts' deepest levels, and he walked around, lighting the torches on the walls and handing them over to the rest. Once there was enough light for his group to see, there were gasps at the place. Rickon led them then, to the spiral staircase, to the level where most recently fallen Starks rested. Jon walked behind him, imagining the steps his little brother was retracing. Jon felt far more like a ghost than that time when he had covered himself head to toe in flour to scare his siblings, and no less unwelcome than he did in his dreams. Though now that he was actually there, he could not hear his father's voice, nor Robb's, no matter how hard he tried. 

He seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't there alone, and the moment Val's hand slid into his, a spell broke.

"Very well," he said, turning to face their group. "Make yourselves comfortable. We'll wait until most of the castle has gone to sleep, and only the night guards are out."

Rickon took sure steps and disappeared, followed by Shaggy and Osha. 

'Where, Bran?' Jon asked in his thoughts, and Ghost led him to the place where stood a statue that was not part of his memories. The likeness to the man who had raised him as a son was there, but it didn't quench a longing that still resided in Jon's chest. 

"Is this your father?" his wife asked.

"Aye. Ned Stark."

"You look like him."

Jon huffed at the irony. He placed his hand over the cold granite and asked the old gods of the North in his mind for his father's memory, despite knowing, better than anyone else, that there was no way for him to receive Jon's message. 

"He's missing his sword," he said aloud, once he opened his eyes. Looking around, he added, "He is not the only one."

Val looked at him with a question on her face.

"Iron swords are placed on their laps to keep vengeful spirits away."

"Good," Val said, puzzling Jon. " _We_ are the vengeful spirits."

Jon continued walking, past the statues of his grandfather, Rickard, and his uncle Brandon, stopping in front of the woman who birthed him. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember, scouring every corner of his mind for a moment when he had stopped and paid attention to the final resting place of Lyanna Stark, but he found nothing. Growing up, Jon had been drawn to the great kings of winter's statues and of the fabled direwolves at their feet. But Lyanna had been just a fuzzy thought, an aunt he had never known, a flesh and bone woman who had become a myth. 

A sound came out of Jon's throat, half chuckle, half sob. 

"Is this her?" his wife asked.

Jon couldn't find the voice to reply, and he simply nodded.

"She looks like your sister."

Jon stared at the frozen face. The expression was wrong when he tried to juxtapose it on Arya's, but looking past that, he recognized the long face, big eyes, and the cheekbones' angle. 

"You're right," he said after a moment. "I never saw it before, mayhaps because Arya was still a child, but now that she is grown, I can see it."

Val let Jon have his silence, and after a while, he said, "I used to think there was no space for me here when I was just the bastard son of the Lord of Winterfell. But now," he said and took a long breath before continuing. "I'm _still_ the bastard of a Stark. More than that. I am a _dead_ Stark, and this is the place where I should be able to find peace."

"Not dead," Val said. "A Stark who has risen again."

* * *

Although there was no way to tell time from deep inside the bowels of Winterfell, a voice they knew far too well spoke to Jon and Rickon,' It's time.' Tormund and Harwin opened the great ironwood door of the crypts, and Jon worried that the creaking it made would give them away, but at the very same time, Nymeria howled outside from the other side of the castle. 

Jon was the first one to exit. After him, Ghost followed, and then Shaggy, running away towards the godswood. He walked away from the crypts and hid in the shadows until he saw a guard walk his rounds, and he jumped from behind, clamping his hand on his mouth and nose and keeping his arms down with the other one. The man squirmed and clawed at Jon until the lack of air made him pass out. It was then that Jon dragged him back to the crypts' entrance, where Harwin and Tormund were waiting. 

The man was promptly gagged and tied and divested of his cloak with the flayed man sigil, which was given to Denet, who picked up the lamp he had dropped and continued his rounds. Lem and Harwin left then, and one by one, unconscious men were brought down into the crypts and lay down in the open tombs that awaited for a new generation of Starks. 

Once Jon changed his cloak and was ready to leave, the faraway laughter of a girl to whom he had not had the chance to bid goodbye made him turn back to where his wife stood. He walked to Val, and with a hand on her nape, he pulled her into a quick but heated kiss. 

"Be careful," he said.

Val nodded and brushing her thumb against his dark beard, she said, "Don't die, I don't look forward to being stolen a third time."

Jon pursed his lips, something fiery waking up the leftover ice in his veins. 

"When the direwolves howl, storm the castle."

* * *

They woke at dawn in silence, kissing each other with rough desperation before they broke from their embrace. As Gendry pulled on his best leather breeches and laced his boots, he watched Arya sliding a thin shift over her body, and on top of it, a simple wool dress that belonged to Alys Karstark. 

He grunted as he put on his shirt and said, "Can't you at least wear chain mail under your gown? "

Arya turned to face him and gave him a weak smile. 

"You know I can't. The wife he's expecting wouldn't wear any type of armor."

"It isn't right," he muttered as they continued dressing and as Arya helped him to strap on his plate armor. 

"I was a fucking armorer's apprentice," he muttered once he was done, and she was ready in her gown and cloak, "and I'm sending my wife into battle in linen and wool."

Arya hugged him from behind and spoke with her lips on his spine, "You will find me, and you will bring me my Fang. And I will not be defenseless."

She turned him around, and grabbing his hand, she guided it under her skirts until he recognized the feel of the leather strap and the handle of a small dagger.

"Your wife will wear steel forged with your hands."

Gendry palmed around, uninterested in the leather and steel, and instead, caressed the silken skin above the strap, and with his other hand, brought Arya closer where he could kiss her. He let go of her thigh and lifted her up, guiding her legs to circle around his hips, so he could kiss her better. He pulled back, making Arya chase his lips.

"I need to tell you something, I-"

"No," Arya stopped him and silenced him with a heated kiss. 

"Don't say it," she whispered against his lips. "Not yet."

"Arya, I can't let you go without saying it,"

Gendry pleaded.

_"When you find me_ , only then. I won't be able to go if you say it now."

Arya felt the groan coming from his chest.

After one more kiss, she buried her face on the crook of his neck, and they remained like that for as long as they could until they heard Stannis clearing his throat outside of their tent. 

"Promise me you will not die," Arya pleaded against his neck.

A sad chuckle erupted from Gendry, and he said then, "As you wish, _m'lady_."

"Don't jest."

"No, not here," he said instead, thinking of the promise they made. "On a bed, when we're old and grey. Will you be there?"

"I promise."

Gendry lowered her until her feet were on the ground, and they stared at each other for a second, each one trying to convey a thousand thoughts with their eyes. 

"Are you ready?" he finally asked.

"I just need her face now."

"I must leave then. I don't want to see it."

Arya's eyes lowered, but he lifted her chin, making him see him in the eye.

"It's not that, never that. I just can't see you disappear."

Arya nodded, and he gave her one more peck on the lips, and looking down, he left the tent. 

Only when he was gone, Arya let out the sob she had held inside, and she kneeled to where her satchel sat and took out the folded linen as if she was carrying the most precious of jewels. Standing tall, she unfolded the cloth, and the face from her past stared at her with hollowed eyes. 

"You wore my face and my name before," she said to her old tormentor. "Let me do the same, and I will make him pay dearly for what he did to you. _To all of us_." 

* * *

Outside of their tent, Stannis waited clad in steel, with his hands behind him. His face looking more gaunt and the skin under his eyes darker than ever. 

"Shireen?" Gendry asked when he came out.

"Safe, in the back, with some of my most loyal men. They know what they must do if we fail. I will not risk something happening to her again."

Gendry nodded and replied, "Good."

Arya came out of the tent then, when she raised her head and locked eyes with the king, Stannis had to take a step back and gasp.

"How?"

"You had your glamours, and I have mine. Leave it there, _uncle_."

Stannis pursed his lips, and nodding, he said, "Very well. We must get going."

Gendry stood in front of his wife, and Arya felt his uneasiness. His hands pulled the hood of her cloak up until her face was obscured.

It was close to midday when they reached the North Gate of Winterfell. As they approached, Arya would steal glances at Gendry, and his wide eyes and open mouth, trying to take in the massive size of her home, made him look childlike, despite his size and the steel he wore. Arya longed to stretch her hand to touch him and smile now that they were both there, so many years after their plans, but she feared the look of rejection when he turned to look at her, wearing the wrong face. 

Their first vanguard formed a semicircle, twenty yards or so away from the great ironwood doors, while more of their men and women stayed behind, waiting for the right time. Ravens had come and gone, and Arya prayed to the old gods and the new that Lord Manderly and their other allies had received their plans safely, and they were just as ready south of the castle. 

Arya, Gendry, and Theon dismounted, and they walked the rest of the way until they were standing in front of the gates. Arya looked up towards the battlements, and she signaled for Gendry to do the same. Once they were close enough, they stopped side by side, with a mumbling Theon behind them. 

"Who goes there?" A booming voice yelled down.

Arya noticed her husband's jaw clench before he answered, "Gendry, nephew of King Stannis Baratheon. "

"What do you want?"

Only Arya and Theon heard his deep groan before he answered, "Ramsay Bolton asked for me to deliver his wife and Reek."

There was silence for tense minutes, and Gendry was almost confident their archers would be getting ready to skewer them. 

"Stand back!" the voice commanded, and the old ironwood doors creaked as they opened. 

Arya had explained Winterfell over the years they had been together, and in the moon and a half that their journey took, she had drawn diagrams over the fresh-fallen snow. Yet, Gendry had not been ready when he was finally able to see the massiveness of the outer and inner wall and the moat that separated them. 

Arya walked forward, getting closer, and Gendry followed, having to pull Theon with him by his cloak. 

As they waited for the drawbridge to be lowered, Gendry's hand ached to stretch out and grab Arya's, but he knew before they left the tent that once they stood outside and Arya was wearing Jeyne's face, that he wouldn't be able to touch her. His hand spasmed, and he stretched and squeezed it into a tight fist, trying to make the sensation go away. He reached for the sword at his hip then, trying to settle his idle hand by grabbing the makeshift handle he had made for Lightbringer out of a scrap of leather. 

"Reek, Reek, Reek, my name is Reek," Theon mumbled to his left as he swung back and forth, and Gendry wanted to punch him to make him keep quiet.

"Stop it," Arya said, and her words interrupted his agony.

Gendry scrunched up his eyes and breathed in as much air as he could.

"Stop what?"

"Whatever is eating at you inside."

"You know _damn_ well what's eating at me."

"I know, and I never said it wasn't eating at me as well."

Gendry braved a look towards her, and he was thankful for the way her cloak was draped over her head, leaving visible only the wrong profile. For a second, he had expected to see her. He had craved to have her grey eyes and the smirk that was always on her face when she made fun of him. He looked back ahead when the wrong curve of a nose reminded him it was not the face he longed to kiss. 

He looked at the wood of the heavy bridge that was slowly being lowered, and he growled with impotence. 

"I'm using all my willpower not to throw you over my shoulder and run away."

"It will be over soon. They're almost done with the bridge."

"Easy for you to say. You'll go in, and I have to stay here and wait until fuck knows when and hope that you'll be safe. At least let Nymeria go with you."

"Nymeria will stay with you. I need to know you're safe."

"And what of me? How will I know _you_ are safe?"

"When Jon opens the doors, you'll storm the castle." 

"I'll be looking for you," Gendry replied. "That's what I'll do."

"The First Keep, he'll take me there. You've studied my drawings. The Lord's Solar, that's where you will go. Nymeria will bring you to me. Trust her."

* * *

When the drawbridge was lowered enough, they could see the tops of men's heads, one standing forward, with long black hair. Gendry didn't have to guess whose it was when Theon cowered next to him. As the pale face was revealed, so was the smirking smile on his fleshy lips. When the bridge was all the way down, Ramsay Bolton walked, flanked by his guards. Theon fell to his knees and tried to back away, but Gendry held on to his cloak. Ramsay's smile grew wider at Theon's reaction, but Gendry didn't move a muscle despite his confident steps. 

Ramsay stopped once he was just a few steps away from the three of them, and Gendry noticed the pale pink velvet doublet, mottled with darker stains, that looked like old blood that refused to be washed away.

"We finally meet, _bastard_ ," he spoke directly to Gendry, trying to get a rise out of him. "I see you have brought my property back."

Arya remained with her head slightly bent, and she could sense her husband's tightly coiled anger.

Gendry bit the inside of his cheek determined to keep his promise and not bite at Ramsay's taunts. 

"So you are the bastard who spread lies about marrying my bride."

"I could say the same thing about you," Gendry answered.

"And yet, I am the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, while you are only the follower of a false king. Where is my bastard good brother?"

Gendry was in no mood for games. 

"I was only meant to escort them here," Gendry responded, letting go of Theon's cloak.

Ramsay's smirk disappeared at once, and he ordered his men, "Take them inside."

Gendry's nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched, but he didn't move from his spot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw just enough of the glint of grey to still the boiling blood in his veins. Two guards held on to a squirming Theon and dragged him over the drawbridge, and his boots left scuff marks over the ironwood. Another guard took Arya by the arm, and she walked alongside him, not once turning back to where Gendry was. He used all of his strength to stay where he was, as he saw Arya cross to the other side, and then, just as slowly as it had been lowered, the drawbridge was lifted. 

Only until he could not see the back of her anymore, he turned around and marched back to where Stannis and Davos waited for him. Once he reached them, he continued walking, ignoring what they said to him. Instead, he walked until he was right in front of a large tree and unsheathing Lightbringer from his scabbard, the blade caught fire, and he brought it down, yelling his frustration as the edge embedded itself on the trunk. He pulled back hard, freeing it, and he swung again. All of those around watched in silence, swinging the fabled sword like it was just the modest hammer of a smith. When his arm burned and his throat was dry, and the tree was covered in cuts and burns, he stopped. 

"Come on, lad. She wouldn't want you like this," Davos spoke, setting his hand on his shoulder. 

Gendry remained with eyes tightly shut until he felt Nymeria's cold nose on his left palm. 

"What do I do now?" he asked, though he wasn't sure if the question was for the men behind him, for Nymeria, or for himself. 

Nevertheless, it was the king who replied, "Now, _son_ , we wait."

* * *

Behind her mask, Arya waited, hearing the old wood of the bridge creaking as it was lifted again. Her keen ear could listen to Gendry's heavy footfalls, marching on the compacted snow. She wanted to keep listening for him, to know he would be safe, but the voice of the bastard of Bolton did not let her. 

"You have been a bad boy, Reek," he taunted.

Theon only cried in a pitiful voice. 

"What do you think I must do to you, Reek?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Theon wailed. 

"I shall escort you to the dungeons myself, Reek. And we are going to think about what you deserve," he said, holding on to Theon's chin as the guards dragged him up. He then turned around, and looking directly at Arya, he said, "I'll be with you soon, _sweetling_."

A guard took Arya by the arm and escorted her towards the Great Keep. 

As they walked, crows cawed from their perches atop the Winterfell buildings, and Arya looked to the Bolton men from under the hood of her cloak, Northern faces she didn't know, and other ones she knew too well, from the Riverlands, and Castle Black. 

"The North remembers, my lady" Arya turned to look at the man who was escorting her, and although the sigil on his chest was faded, she could still recognize blue eyes and whitecaps.

"Does it? It seemed to me that if the North did remember, it still did nothing."

"The North remembers, and there are many true Northern men inside Winterfell still," the man added, looking ahead.

"In that case, then…"

"Tell me, my lady."

"When he joins me in his chamber, and you get the signal, open the gates. Let winter finally come." 

"How will we know the sign, my lady?"

Arya laughed and said, "The wolves will howl, and the dead will rise."

* * *

Arya was taken to the Lord's Solar. She knew by heart the layout of the large room, but little remained of the furniture and objects used to be her father's realm. She looked out of the diamond-shaped windows, into the courtyard, watching old ghosts spar with wooden swords, with her hand on the wall, letting the warmth seep in.

"Take your hood off, _wife_. I want to see you."

Arya turned around and obeyed him, pushing the hood back and looking directly into the eyes of Jeyne's tormentor.

Ramsay walked to her, his rough and dry hand hooking brusquely on her jaw and neck and forcing her to look at him. His skin was blotchy, and his eyes seemed to Arya to be made of dirty snow. 

"Now, what should I do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was probably not quite the chapter you were expecting, but I promise the next one will be full on battle.
> 
> Since the next one should be posted in a couple of weeks, I want to wish you all happy holidays. Your support has truly made this crazy year more manageable.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the direwolves howl, a bloody battle to win back Winterfell begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it took me a whole month to finish this chapter. It is by far the one that has taken me the most, both in time and work. I will admit, writing action/battles is not my forte, but I feel pleased with this one. It was worth the wait, to me, because I do not think I would have been able to give you something decent in less time. 
> 
> I apologize for being so behind in replying to comments. I decided to put all my effort into writing the chapter. Now, I will reply to all your comments, but let me thank you all for your support. I also want to thank both those who just started this long story and have been leaving comments in the past chapters, as well as those silent readers who have been checking out my other works and leaving kudos on them. 
> 
> PS. Special thanks to @thereluctantbadger for helping me beta this mammoth of a chapter. Love you, Badge!  
> PS2. Trigger Warning: There are threats of sexual violence in this chapter.

[ ](https://imgur.com/TUJYLbO)

Osha sat down on the cold stone ground with her back against the open tomb where her son used to play when he was little, unaware of the eeriness of it. It was the same place where she sat all those years before when Rickon was not yet hers to claim. She let out a hollow laugh, thinking that they were doing it all again in reverse, and, instead of gaining a son, she would be giving him up in the end. Osha prayed to the gods beyond the Wall and promised that she would gladly give her son back to the Starks if he was spared in the coming battle. 

The boy she raised, almost a man grown, was sitting alongside her with a furrowed brow and his knee moving uncontrollably. Osha longed for the days when she would make him rest his head on her lap and run her fingers through the wild auburn hair until his bright blue eyes closed, lulling him to sleep with the same tune her mother used to sing to her. Osha's hand reached out, but instead of going to his unruly hair, she set it on his knee, forcing it to still. 

Rickon turned to stare at her, and he pursed his lips, unhappy that he couldn't keep his nerves in check.

"You are too hard on yourself, _my little wolf_."

He shook his head and looked towards the entrance.

"Where is the _fucking_ sign? We've been here all night."

"It shouldn't be long; by now, your sister must be inside already."

Her boy did not say a word, but he clenched his jaw, and he stood up pacing around, unable to stay seated, as Osha had no doubt he was imagining what was happening to his sister. 

"Soon, _little wolf_ ," she said from where she sat still.

" _Soon_ ," her son repeated, as he stomped around the small space, taking his dagger from his belt, twirling it in his hand.

* * *

_'South.'_

Jon walked through the many courtyards of his old home, his steps steady despite his eagerness to reach his destination. He made sure to keep his face a blank slate that wouldn't give his plans away. 

They had slowly subdued guards throughout the night, taking their clothes and leaving them tied inside open tombs. He was heading towards the southern end of Winterfell, thinking about the time when he took the very same path towards the forge. Mikken had looked proud of his work when he placed the skinny blade on his hands. He had not questioned Jon when he first brought him a piece of parchment with rough sketches of a sword from a distant land, and he was tasked with making it for the youngest daughter of the Warden of the North. Mikken had eyed the drawings carefully while he rubbed his beard, and with a smirk, he nodded, taking the commission, not once questioning for who it was intended. 

Arya was already inside Winterfell. Jon heard when the North drawbridge had been lowered and raised again. It had taken all of Jon's willpower not to walk to the Lord's Solar, and he was sure his good brother would not be having a better time. Instead, he headed south, towards the Southern Gate. It wouldn't be too long. He felt it in his bones and in the tickle in his throat. Ghost would not be able to howl, not properly, but Jon knew that he would go through the motion, and both their throats would be sore afterward. 

He kept himself out of sight, in the shade, in a crevice from where he could see the guards that manned the South Gate. There were only three, and they did not seem particularly vigilant. Jon held on to the pommel of Long Claw. 

It wouldn't be long.

* * *

"Now, what should I do with you?" Ramsay Bolton asked, walking towards her, dragging his feet, and looking her over intently. Arya wasn't surprised when he grabbed the back of her neck roughly, expecting her to cower, as the wife he assumed her to be, and she had to bite her tongue to keep quiet, though holding his gaze.

"What do you have to say for yourself, _wife_? Running away like that with _my_ Reek? Who was the one to convince the other? I wonder."

Arya remained silent, even when Ramsay's rough thumb slid over her cheek, leaving it chafed. He seemed mesmerized with the reddened path of his fingers. Smirking, Ramsay moved the hand away, only to slap the cheek he had just caressed with such force that Arya fell to her hands and knees. She had to take a breath as a fat drop of blood landed on her hand. The tip of her tongue licked the corner of her mouth, and the taste of metal made her smile, reminding her of steel. She wiped her lips with the sleeve of her wool gown and lifted her head to stare at the man without uttering a word. 

Ramsay seemed unnerved for a second, not expecting his newly returned wife to look at him in the eye. The smirk on his meaty lips disappeared as he stared at her eyes, and he grew distrustful of how she welcomed his blow without whimpers or tears.

"There is something wrong with your eyes," he said, furrowing his brow.

"Is that so, my lord?" Arya finally spoke. 

"Something is wrong with their color."

Arya held his gaze as she got on her feet and said, "Mayhaps, it is that you are not used to seeing them when they're not black and blue."

"No, it's not that," Ramsay replied, shaking his head. "Have your eyes always been grey?"

"Did you ever care to look into my eyes before, my lord?" Arya asked.

Her words made Ramsay hesitate for only a second, but he surged and picked her up by the collar of her dress, pulling her up until only her tiptoes brushed against the floor, and his face was close enough that Arya smelled the stench of ale on his breath.

"That's much better," he said, taking a deep breath. "I like the scent of blood on my women."

Arya kept the many words she had in her mouth, and they tasted just as tangy as the blood on her tongue. She did nothing to move back, not even when his hand squeezed her ass roughly. When the torment didn't earn him any reaction, the hand holding on to her collar lowered, letting her feet plant themselves firmly on the ground as he groped her breast and pinched a nipple through her clothing. Arya couldn't stop herself from wincing, taking a step back instinctually to move away from the pain. 

Ramsay smirked, pleased at her reaction, and he grabbed at the collar again and pulled downwards, ripping the fabric a bit, not enough to bare her completely, but enough to show more of her skin. 

"Did _he_ fuck you? The bastard who claims to be the false king's nephew, did he enjoy _my_ spoils?"

"What would you do if he did?" she asked, lifting her chin.

Ramsay pushed her hard, making her fall on her ass.

"Make no mistake, there is _nothing_ special about that cunt of yours. You're no different from any of the bitches I've fucked. I don't care if it was only the bastard who fucked you or if the entire Night's Watch and half the wildlings made you their whore. The only thing worthwhile about your cunt is that it will secure the North for me once I have planted my heir in you."

Arya spat out the blood that had collected in her mouth at Ramsay's feet, and looking up with a smile, she asked, "What assures you that he hasn't planted _his_ heir in me already?"

Those words tasted better than anything else she had ever tasted, and they were worth the sting of a new slap and the hook to her stomach. 

"You got mouthy up north," he said, wrapping his fist in her braid and pulling it hard by the nape to make her look at him. "Do not worry yourself, _wife_. I'm a patient man, and I don't mind waiting until you're done bleeding his bastard out."

Arya was still trying to get enough air in her lungs when he pushed her until her back slammed against the wall. Winterfell's warmth made her feel at home, despite the pain from the blows. Bending down, Ramsay held on to her hem and started lifting it slowly, only to halt when loud knocking interrupted them. 

"What?!"

A hesitant voice came from the other side of the large oak door, "My Lord, there is something you must know."

Ramsay grunted and walked towards the door, dragging Arya behind him by the hair.

He opened the door to reveal a man, fair-haired and boyish-looking with a greased whip at his hip, who bowed to him once inside.

"What is it, Damon?"

"The guards on the south wall battlements spotted an army approaching."

"Is it the Baratheon army?" Ramsay asked with a sneer.

"No, they carry the merman banner."

"The fat bastard is finally coming back, good," Ramsay commented, letting go of Arya's hair.

"My lord," Damon said, with his head still bowed.

"What?!"

The man lifted his head, and he looked towards Arya, the bright crimson on her mouth catching his attention. Arya was able to see the moment he realized that he had taken too long staring at her.

Looking down, he continued, "Manderly stopped replying to our ravens. Your father had started to doubt his loyalty."

Ramsay laughed, picking up his goblet from a table and taking a gulp, the foamy ale spilling out of the corner of his lips and smearing his pink doublet.

"My Lord, if he has joined Stannis, we-,"

"What are they going to do?" Ramsay interrupted him. "They can't come inside. They can siege us all they want. Let the cold and hunger kill them out there. Or let Steelshanks and the men from the Dreadfort take care of them for all I care. Have they been spotted?"

"No, my Lord, not yet, but they were to start marching over a fortnight ago," Damon responded, shaking this head.

"Good, they'll be dead sooner than I thought."

"My lord, what should we do in the meantime?"

" _Eat, drink, fuck_. That's what _I_ plan to do," Ramsay said, looking towards Arya and smirking. "I don't give a fuck what the rest do."

Ramsay turned around and pulled Arya to her feet once more.

"My Lord, Stannis Baratheon commands a large army."

Ramsay turned around, bothered. 

"He doesn't have the Lannister's favor. I have the North behind me, now more than ever, as my wife has been rescued from the wildlings. Stannis Baratheon knows he holds no power. That is why he relinquished my bride. Now fuck off and don't bother me again."

Damon bowed once more and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ramsay barred the door, and then, he turned around, saying, "Where were we?"

* * *

Waiting was the worse part. 

Gendry busied himself with rote labor, wishing, unsuccessfully, that it would dull the feeling of impotence soaring through his veins. He checked weapons and strapped a light satchel against his chest under his leathers. He kept taking glances towards Nymeria, out of the corner of his eye, willing silently for the signal to come. 

It was ironic, his uncle had pointed it out when he saw him dressed for battle, that the armorer's apprentice had donned boiled leather instead of plate armor. But, if Arya didn't wear steel, Gendry wouldn't either. And, he preferred to avoid any extra weight that may slow him down as he made his way to the Lord's Solar. 

All during the eternity of waiting for the signal, Nymeria paced around nervously, brushing against him, and he wondered who, out of the two of them, was more desperate to find a piece of Arya in the other.

The sharp cold of the North buried deeper in Gendry's bones, seconds before the signal came. Looking back towards Nymeria, he saw it in her great golden eyes, darker than they had ever been. Her massive head tilted back, and she howled in a way that made something in Gendry's chest ache. Immediately after, he heard how Shaggy Dog joined his wife's direwolf in their call to arms from afar.

"It's time!" Gendry yelled back to where Stannis, Davos, and the rest of their men were, and they marched towards the North Gate once more, where the drawbridge fell down faster than the last time. It hadn't yet touched the ground when Gendry and Nymeria jumped over it and ran inside. As guards ran in their direction, Gendry's right hand was already swinging his smithing hammer. The first man to approach him received the full force of the swing of his hammer on the side of the head, falling backward, his face bloodied, and his jaw crooked. Gendry didn't waste time looking at him, as he immediately swung his arm back to hit the second soldier in the gut and then up to beat him hard on the chin. A third man charged at his back, but before he could catch Gendry unaware, Nymeria jumped on him and closed her jaws around his neck, swinging him around like a limp straw sack.

As they made their way through the inner roads of Winterfell, evading a rain of arrows, Gendry did his best to follow Arya's sketches from memory and mostly relied on Nymeria's familiarity with his wife's home. Looking over his left shoulder, he saw the tall broken tower and his heart soared, knowing he was on the right path. After that, he only had to cross the archway and look for the building on his right, which Arya had told him would be the armory, and follow the covered bridge to the Great Keep. 

Man and beast encountered more guards on the bridge, men with eyes wide in terror at the sight of a direwolf and a man wielding a hammer, that left bloodied men in their wake. At the end of the bridge, a grand round stairwell led to the Lord's Solar. As they ran up the stone steps, more armed soldiers encountered them, trying to stop their advance. Gendry dodged the first assault, promptly caving in the head of the man who had just jumped at him. A second man swung his sword, managing to slash the sleeve of his leather doublet, grazing the skin. The sting of the wound was almost welcomed, as it kept Gendry in the moment and pushed him harder into reaching Arya. Nymeria leaped at the man, making him fall backward as he wailed his horror at the beast that pinned him down with her paws on his chest and ripped his face off with her teeth.

There was no time to be shocked by the scene, as more guards swarmed towards them. Passing the hammer to his left hand, Gendry closed his fist tightly around Lightbringer's handle. The men halted in awe as the blade swung free and caught fire. Gendry did not stop, and thesword, slicing through chain mail cleanly, left the stench of charred flesh behind. The injured man's yelps broke the remaining guards' trance, suddenly scrambling to best block Gendry's attacks. Another guard went on the offensive, his sword colliding with Lightbringer as Gendry held it up to stop him. Gendry grunted as the man kept swinging at him, and the sound of the blades clashing reverberated in the stairwell.

Meanwhile, Nymeria kept another man at bay by merely baring her teeth as she growled. After a few minutes of intense fighting, Gendry pulled his arm back, and instead of swinging sideways, he lunged forward, piercing through the man's chest with ease. Lightbringer embedded in his chest almost to the hilt. The last man standing looked from the direwolf to the limp body of the impaled soldier as Gendry dislodged the flaming sword from his chest, prompting him to turn around and flee.

* * *

Before his siblings' direwolves howled, Jon was already moving towards the first bridge guard. The man didn't even see Jon approach him before his dagger was already slicing his neck cleanly. The other two turned around when they heard the thud of the dead body falling on the ground, and they both lunged towards Jon, but Long Claw was already slashing at one of the guards before he had time to unsheathed his own sword, and the other was dealt with soon after. 

Jon was already working the winch when Sigorn came running and helped him lower the bridge to allow for their allies coming from the south to enter Winterfell. Closing his eyes, Jon hoped that Manderly had come as Arya promised he would to back them in their re-taking of their home, yet it was hard to trust when Robb had trusted once, and he had been betrayed. Ser Davos had also vouched for the man's alliance, but Jon still reeled from knowing he had been one of those to quickly side with the Boltons.

_'Trust, brother,'_ Bran's voice whispered from afar. 

Both men had worked the winch as fast as they could, though it felt like a small eternity to Jon. As soon as the bridge was lowered enough to see the troops waiting to storm Winterfell from the south, the yelling and cheer were quickly heard. Men ran inside as soon as the bridge was down. Jon planted his feet firmly on the ground, alongside Sigorn and a few more men from their group that had raised from the crypts in the middle of the night with him. Turning around, they faced the Bolton soldiers running towards them when they discovered they were under attack. Jon closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer, trusting that the approaching troops at their back would be on their side, and they were not just about to be trampled by two armies. 

The Manderly men entering the castle ran past them and engaged with the Bolton soldiers head-on alongside Jon and the others. Chaos was all around them, men yelling and grunting side by side, as swords clashed and hacked at their enemies. Arrows flew from both sides, and bodies fell down from the battlements. There was no time to check if the man falling right next to him was an ally or a foe, nothing but advancing over the hardened ground that was quickly becoming muddy from blood and guts. 

A blade swung dangerously close to his head, and though Jon moved enough to get out of its path, the edge was close enough to scrape the tip of his ear. Jon yelled with all his might as his arm moved sideways, slicing the neck of the man and spattering blood over Jon's eyebrow.

Jon groaned, his face already marred with mud and blood, the power in his attacks having already made him break a sweat, and unstrap his heavy cloak and let it fall. When it looked like a good deal from the Bolton men had been defeated, a new wave of guards came through the courtyard, from the Guard Hall, Jon yelled, as he ran towards them, engaging head-on. He braved a look back and saw the limp body of a wildling man falling down. They ran towards them, even if the odds seemed to be against them. 

Though the fight was pushed from all breached gates towards the center courtyards, in sight of the Great Keep, the battle was still brutal. As all fronts seemed to collide in the center, Jon saw men with the Mormont bear sigil coming from the Hunter's Gate, as well as Stannis and his men coming from the northern and eastern sides of the castle. The fight started to lean in their favor until an old man leading a pack of hunting hounds joined the melee. Over half a dozen hounds were set loose and attacked the intruders viciously. 

Jon felt Ghost running from the godswood, answering his call. The hounds suddenly lost interest in their prey and left it bleeding on the snow, and they approached the direwolf barking and growling. The first one to jump at Ghost was caught by the neck and thrown around until it stopped moving. Ghost fur was emblazoned by the bright red of the hound's blood as he bared his teeth at the pack attacking him. The quarrels around seemed to slow down at the sight of the massive direwolf, tearing the hounds apart.

"The North remembers!" a voice hollered, and more and more voices joined in the chants. 

* * *

Rickon had made his way to the doors of the crypts the moment he sensed Shaggy Dog was about to howl, despite his direwolf being all the way back in the godswood. When the howling came, he and other of the free folk pushed the doors open and ran, spreading through the courtyards attacking Bolton guards who tried to stop them after their initial confusion. 

Rickon didn't carry a sword; instead, his dragonglass dagger was on his right hand, while on his left, the steel dagger that Gendry had made for him. The first guard that attempted to stop him had swung his sword at him, but the young man jumped out of the path of the blade with ease. Before the Bolton soldier had enough time to swing it back, Rickon buried both his knives on his chest with such force that they went through his leather vest easily. He then brought his boot up to kick him hard on the middle of his torso to dislodge them. The man's face was stunned as he fell backward, letting go of his sword to bring his hand to his wounds, trying unsuccessfully to stop the flow of blood rapidly staining his clothes. 

Rickon was swift as he made his way through the archways and courtyards, viciously slitting throats, slashing away, and laughing, with blood splatter across his face. His fists, wrapped around the daggers' handle, alternated between punching, stabbing, and yanking the blades down, leaving deep furrows on the flesh of his enemies. The free folk that had come out of the crypts along Rickon had run directly towards the Guards Hall and surprised all the Bolton men that seemed confused when confronted with fur-covered men and women, yelling as they ran towards them, wielding knives and axes. The guards were not prepared for the free folk fighting style. While it lacked the finesse of the sword fighting to which they were accustomed, it unleashed blow after blow with brutal force. 

Rickon was fighting two soldiers at the same time, with hands drenched in blood. The young wolf stabbed one of the men hard on the chest with one of his daggers, and he swung his other hand, piercing through the man's ear, the blade stopping only when Rickon's fist slammed against his head. Behind him, Osha dealt with another one of the guards on her own, stealing glances to where her son fought. Shaggy Dog had joined the skirmish, and he was a few paces ahead of them, feasting on the bodies of the hunting hounds that had run directly to attack the direwolf.

As she disposed of the man she was fighting, Osha was able to see the new man lunging towards her son behind his back. She didn't have to think twice, as the motherly instinct that had always made her reach for her son before he tripped pushed her. She jumped on the back of the guard, her arm squeezing hard around his neck. Rickon turned at the sound of Osha's yelling, only to see the man falling to his knees after a few seconds. 

Osha looked up and smiled at her son, who raised his chin with pride. The proud smile fell from Rickon's face as his mother's eyes opened wide, the moment that a sword pierced cleanly through her neck.

"No!" Rickon yelled, yanking his dagger from the dead man's head and stabbing his mother's attacker in the eye. 

Shaggy Dog howled and ran to them, leaving the dead bodies of the hounds behind. The direwolf went for the Bolton soldiers around, ripping them apart, limb by limb.

Rickon pulled the sword out and fell to his knees, cradling the body of his mother, who gasped and spluttered out blood through her mouth. 

"No, no, no," Rickon kept repeating, with his hand covering the part where the tip of the blade had protruded. Behind him, Shaggy Dog continued shielding them from the soldiers that tried to attack while he helped Osha, making them retreat after shredding to pieces the men who dared to advance. If that was not enough to instill fear, his growling, with blood and flesh still stuck to his fangs, did.

"You will be fine, you will be fine," he repeated as he rocked her against his chest and called for his siblings, "Arya! Jon!"

"Little… wolf…" Osha muttered as much as she could, her bloodied hand rising to his chest.

"Mother! Mother!" Rickon yelled while Osha spasmed and gasped uncontrollably.

The moment her trembling stopped, and her hand fell limply to her side, Rickon let out a howl that sounded almost as loud as if Shaggy Dog had done it.

* * *

"Where were we?" the Bolton bastard asked, looking at her with a smirk.

"You were inquiring about how well my _true_ husband fucks," Arya answered, knowing full well that more blows were coming her way.

"You married _me_ , _wife_ , in the godswood. You were there. Where did the bastard claim to wed you? At the Wall among wildlings, murders, and rapers? Lies! I married Arya Stark, _not him_."

"You married a Northern girl that the Lannisters sold you as the last remaining Stark."

Arya stared at the man, his small pale eyes narrowing and his jaw clenching tightly. In the few seconds that he seemed to consider his next step, Arya felt the rush in her blood. 

"Did you really think I did not know the Lannisters presented my father a Northern whore they plucked from Littlefinger's brothel?"

"Did _he_ know?" Arya asked.

Ramsay shrugged, and smirking again, he said, "Who cares? Theon Greyjoy, who was brought up alongside the Starks, almost like a true brother, vouched that you were the lost Arya Stark, and the North recognized our union."

"I'm not _your_ wife."

"You are whoever I say you are," Ramsay said, pulling her by the hair again.

Arya's head was tilted up, and her fake husband's face was close to her with his crooked teeth bared in a sneer. He was too enthralled in how he was toying with Arya to hear the distant howling of Nymeria outside of Winterfell, followed by a louder howl from Shaggy Dog from inside the castle walls.

He pushed her hard, making her land on her back, and the hem of her dress lifted, baring the skin above the knee-high woolen socks she wore. Arya stayed still as Ramsay pulled her legs apart and kneeled in between them. His hand squeezed the bare skin first, and then it slid, higher and higher, until his fingers found the leather strap.

"A dagger?" he asked, looking down and lifting her skirts higher, revealing the weapon sheathed in the strap. "Really? Did you think it would be easy to kill me?" 

Ramsay pulled the blade from its sheath, making sure to scrape the skin of her thigh as he yanked it away.

"Let's get rid of this," he said, unstrapping the leather and throwing both objects over his shoulder. "I think my hands will be better at squeezing your thighs than this."

As to make a point, his hands crept up, squeezing her flesh as they moved. 

"You think I won't put up a fight?" Arya asked, making sure to stay still, despite the disgust that the man's touch brought her.

" _I hope you do_ ," he replied with a smirk. "But I'm your husband, after all, and make no mistake, compliant or not, you will perform your duties."

"You're not my _real_ husband."

"Your bastard husband is weak."

Arya laughed, her leg going over his hip and her hand reaching just inside her boot.

"You want to know something about my husband?" she asked. "He was an armorer's apprentice, and he is quite talented in making weapons."

Arya’s touch slid down, over the inseam of the soft leather of Ramsay’s breeches.

"Like the dagger, I already took from you?"

"Aye, but he knows his wife is greedy for them, and above all, my husband is generous."

With those words, the fingers that were caressing the inside of his thigh turned sharp, and soon, a blade was puncturing through the leather and into the skin of his groin.

"You bitch!"

"I thought you knew I was a she-wolf," she said almost in a sing-song voice, which suddenly changed. "Move an inch, and I'll rid you of your balls."

Ramsay and Arya stared at each other for a few tense moments until he grabbed her by the throat, only to let go and whimper when the blade dug in his groin, painting Arya's thigh red with his blood. Ramsay fell to the side, holding on to his groin, his breeches staining rapidly in a dark red hue. Arya stood up, and she wiped the blade against the grey gown. The stab had been just a warning. She stood there, watching the man apply pressure until he got his breathing to calm, and the bleeding seemed to slow down. He turned around, and he walked towards her, limping a bit. 

"You'll regret this," he said, picking up his falchion from a table. 

Arya twirled the dagger in her hand, watching him walking towards her, pointing at her with the single-edged sword. 

The man lunged towards her, the falchion in his hand falling hard but slicing only the air as Arya moved away from its path. Ramsay grunted, and he swung from side to side, waving the weapon more like a butcher’s cleaver than a sword. Arya ducked and twisted, evading the attacks, and with each blow thwarted, Ramsay seemed to get more and more frustrated, his splotchy skin, reddening. 

Outside, the noises grew with yelling and swords clanging, yet, Ramsay seemed unaware of what was going on outside of the Lord's Solar. Ramsay kept his assaults until Arya released a strike of her own, right after Ramsay tricked to slash her, and instead, she sliced at the wrist holding his sword, making it go lax and drop his falchion, which fell to the floor with a clang. Arya kicked the blade to the side, but before anything else could happen, the doors opened abruptly, and three guards surrounded her and rid her of her dagger.

"My lord!" Damon exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

Ramsay stood up, holding on to his wrist.

"I'm fine. But _she_ won't be."

"My lord," the man said again, looking nervous. "Our gates have been breached. We are under attack."

Ramsay turned to Arya and asked, "What did you do?"

"I'm taking my home back."

“This is not _your_ home. I am the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

"No," Arya said, "you are nothing."

Grabbing Arya by the neck, Ramsay dragged her outside to the open balcony from where the central courtyard could be seen. There, a bloody battle was fought.

"Where is he?" he hissed against her ear. "I should ask for my guards to bring him to me so you can see how I tear his skin off slowly.

Arya looked at the men fighting. She saw the faces of Stannis' soldiers and men from beyond the Wall, bravely fighting the Bolton guards. None of them were the face of her husband. Nymeria's loud growl prompted all to turn towards the stairwell. Even if she couldn't see him, Gendry's heavy footfalls as he advanced were unmistakable. 

"What are you waiting for? Deal with that!" Ramsay yelled to his men, who ran towards the source of the noise, while he dragged Arya back into the room, closing the door behind them. He had his arm wrapped around her neck and her back tightly pressed against his chest. As he recoiled back, Arya's feet slid over the wooden floor, leaving scuff marks behind. 

The sharp edge of her own dagger scraped at the skin of her neck, sliding higher, until it reached the bone of her jaw, and then higher, right behind her ear, against a slight bump, the flap of skin that only Arya knew was there. 

"How do you think he'll feel when he finds out that it was the very dagger he made, the one I used to slit your throat?" Ramsay hissed against her ear. 

Outside the door, the scuffle intensified, with the clashing of swords, screams, and Nymeria's growls. Arya closed her eyes, no longer listening to Ramsay's taunts, and after a breath, her head slammed back, breaking his nose. The sound was wet, and it was followed by Ramsay's gasps and whimpers. The dagger fell to the floor when he let go to bring his hands to his nose. 

Arya dropped to the floor and kicked around, tripping the Bolton bastard, who fell down with a thud. Arya's hand was quick to pick up her dagger, and she pushed it hard against Ramsay's neck, making him open his eyes.

"Look at my face, _my Lord._ "

The edge of the dagger was pushed further, barely breaking the skin.

" _This_ is the face that brought your downfall."

While Arya's left hand was tightly wrapped around the blade's handle, her right went to the flap behind her ear, in the exact place where Ramsay had prickled the skin. Holding on to it, Arya pulled it loose, and Jeyne's face peeled off from her own in one swift movement. Ramsay's eyes, open wider as the face was flayed off.

"And _this_ is the face of the _real_ Arya Stark, who will make sure you pay for all the pain and suffering you've brought to my people."

The man who had enjoyed taunting her seemed to not have any more words left. Instead, his pale milky eyes stared at her. 

“Her name was Jeyne,” Arya said. 

"Jeyne," the bastard repeated. "A common name. I gave a couple of bitches that name."

Arya pushed the dagger harder against his neck, fully aware of Ramsay's custom of naming his hounds after his victims.

"I should tell you a secret. Your seed quickened in her womb as she fled."

"You lie."

"I wish I was. You see, you were so close. To claim you planted your heir in your fake Stark wife."

Ramsay tried to get loose to no avail.

"I wish I was lying and that your wretched child hadn't killed Jeyne, consuming her from the inside, ripping her flesh as it grew."

* * *

Val had never seen anything like Winterfell before, and given the way Tormund looked around with wide eyes, she was sure the old man hadn't seen anything like that either. Still, that place that had been her man's home once didn't win her over just by its grandeur. If anything, it made her uneasy. Val wondered about the men that had been tasked with building it, stone after stone. How many years had it taken to grow something that large from nothing? And what was worse, Val was sure that those men that had built it had not been the ones sitting on its throne. 

Still, she forced herself to stay on track, to run through the place, clearing their path from guards with her bone knife as if reaping a field. Even if the fight was to avenge her man's people, it was not her war. The free folk had gone into battle for the same reason as Val, to free Mance. She had failed Dalla, and every night she asked for forgiveness and made promises in exchange for her sister's babe to survive. She had to find Mance and free him, and then, she'd walk to the end of the world to find her son.

"This way," Tormund called, finding the building that Jon had explained would hold the Winterfell dungeons. The stairwell down to the place where the Starks kept their prisoners was far narrower and darker than the crypts. There were plenty of guards there, but they had been unprepared for the free folk storming the place to free their king. 

Once the last of the dungeon guards had been cut down, Val searched the place desperately, looking into the cells, past the bars, trying to find Mance. Inside the last one, at the back, there was a mound. Val got closer and noticed the lump of clothes move, revealing it to be the battered body of a man. 

Val shook the door of the cell, trying to get it to open, and she growled in frustration when it didn't budge, the large iron lock rattling with her yanking. 

"Here," Tormund said, pulling a set of keys from the body of one of the guards, and he handed it to her to unlock the cell. 

Val ran inside, and she crouched by the man that was lying under a cloak. She pulled on his shoulder, and she knew it was not who she had hoped, as his body weighed almost nothing. 

The hood of the cloak fell back, baring the thinning white hair, matted with blood, and the gaunt face Val had seen before at Castle Black. It had not been hard to recognize Theon, even if he was in a far worse state than when he had just arrived at the Night's Watch. 

"Where is Mance?!" she yelled, shaking the man, forcing his lost eyes to focus on her. "Do you know where he is?"

"Reek, Reek, Reek..." Theon mumbled.

Val held on to his face with her hands on each side, and she shook him again. 

"Theon! Your name is Theon. Where is Mance?"

"Val?" Theon asked.

She only nodded and asked once more, "You must know where they keep Mance. Tell me!"

"In the lower level," he whispered. "If he's not here, that's where he took him, but if he took him there, he is already dead... Or he wishes he was.”

"Take me there," she ordered, standing up and pulling him with her. 

Theon's legs did not hold him upright, and he fell down, his hands barely breaking his fall.

"He can't walk, Val," Tormund pointed out. "His legs are broken."

"Help him walk," Val ordered him. "He knows where Mance is."

Tormund held him up, with his hand around his waist, getting him to put his arm around his shoulders. They walked as well as they could until they found yet another narrow tunnel, down to a place entirely in the dark, lit only by a couple of torches on the walls. There was a wooden wheel in the back, and tied to it was the naked body of who had been once the King-Beyond-the-Wall. 

"Mance!" Val cried, running towards him. 

Mance's head hung down, his hair, whatever was left of it, clearly having been pulled out in chunks, obscured his face. 

Tormund set Theon down and joined Val, holding Mance's head up and brushing his hair back. His face was black and blue, one of his eyes completely shut, and the other one barely a slit. Still, he tried his best to focus, and his mouth opened, trying to speak, but his voice was just a hoarse whisper.

"Mance," Tormund spoke then, "We're here. We've come for you."

"S... Son. My son."

Val opened her mouth, but there were no words to beg for forgiveness. 

"He's safe," Tormund replied, making Val turn to face him. "He's alive and safe. Now, we need to get you out of here."

Mance shook his head. 

"No, I can die now."

"No, you will live, and you will lead your people!" Val exclaimed.

Once they untied him, Tormund wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. They attempted to move him, but Mance cried out in pain. Only then Val looked at him carefully.

"Val," Tormund said.

Large chunks of skin had been peeled from his torso and his arms and legs, the open wounds infected and oozing pus. 

"Mance," Val pleaded.

"Just take me outside. I want to die free on the snow."

— 

As soon as Gendry made his way to the top of the stairwell, he knew he was in the right place. More than a handful of guards were there, guarding a great oak door, while one who was clearly their commander yelled at them to protect their lord. Some of the men looked terrified, of the great beast behind him, of the flaming sword on his hand, or mayhaps of the fury coursing through his veins that had him roaring as he surged at them. His arms swung harder than he had ever banged steel against the anvil. Lightbringer clashed against the attempts of the guards to make him retreat. One man had his face sliced, and another one fell down, with his steel helmet caved in by his hammer.

Meanwhile, Nymeria was tearing another one to shreds. Gendry alternated between blocking the sword attacks with his own flaming blade and punching his opponents with his fist wrapped around the handle of his weapon. As he was busy dealing with one of the men, another went on the attack, swinging his sword directly at Gendry's head. Nymeria growled, pushing at Gendry's side hard, getting him out of the path of the blade, the steel grazing his cheek, painting a long red line over the hardened skin. Gendry roared and swung his arm, embedding his hammer in the hole where the man's face used to be. 

He then turned to see the commander take a step back, and he charged at him. Lightbringer pierced his neck cleanly and stopped only when it hit the door's oak on the other side. 

As Nymeria dealt with the last two men, he pulled the blade back, dislodging the commander's dead body, so he could open the door. When it opened, he found Arya, with her knee over Ramsay Bolton's chest, and her dagger at his neck. 

"Arya!" Gendry yelled from the door. 

Arya didn't move from where she was, but she yelled, "Help me tie him!"

Gendry did as he was told, twisting Ramsay's arms behind his back, as Arya moved off of him, still keeping the blade at his throat. Gendry looked around for something he could use to tie the man, and the sound of ripping fabric caught his attention to see Arya tearing a long strip of wool from her own skirts. 

"Here," she said, handing it to him. 

Once Ramsay Bolton's arms were secured behind his back, he quickly tied his feet together. 

Ramsay was yelling at him to let him free, but Gendry was not listening. As soon as the man was subdued, Gendry stood up and turned around. He rushed to his wife and took her in his arms. Gendry held her tight against him and then pushed her a bit away to check her. He saw her ripped skirts and the blood on her leg.

"You're hurt!"

"No! It's not my blood, it's not my blood," Arya repeated, cradling his face in her hands, her thumb, brushing back the blood on his cheek. 

Gendry pulled her to him, and he kissed her roughly, his hand on the back of her head. After a few moments, their breathing calmed, and they parted, keeping their eyes closed and their foreheads together.

"You are _my_ wife," he said to her, but feeling like he was trying to convince himself. "Not _his_. _Mine_!"

"The bitch may be yours, but I had my fun with her." 

The voice of the Bolton bastard pulled Gendry from their embrace. He walked towards him, and he saw him spit out the blood that was spilling down from his broken nose to his mouth. Despite being on the floor, clearly defeated, the dirty milk eyes glinted, having found a way to sting.

"Are you happy with those words being your last ones?" Gendry asked, walking with aplomb towards him, his right hand closing into a fist. 

"Leave him! Don't play his game," Arya said, pulling him by the arm. 

Gendry turned towards her, and he seemed to really notice the state of her face. Holding on to her chin, he carefully moved her head, looking for wounds. His jaw tensing furiously.

"Where else did he hit you?" 

"I am fine," Arya said, placing her hand on his chest to appease him and moving her head away from his hands. 

"I know you can take care of yourself," Gendry said, pulling her back to his arms. "I didn't ask because I doubted that."

"Why did you ask then?" Arya asked, lifting her chin.

"Because I want to know _exactly_ how much pain and blood to collect from him to pay his debt to you."

"I know I promised you could cave his head in," Arya said, setting her hand on his stubbled jaw, "but he doesn't get the gift of mercy."

Gendry grunted, bringing his lips to her forehead, and after a moment, he added, "It's fine. I'll still collect on the pain he took from you. So how many blows and where besides your face?"

Arya knew that Gendry could see the reddening of her cheeks and the remnants of the blood in the corner of her mouth, but there was no point in recounting every wound.

"It is not important."

Gendry's blue eyes looked dark as he said, "It is to me."

They both stared at each other, many things exchanged in a moment.

"I'll be seeing the bruises," Gendry reminded her.

"Fine! You stubborn bull!" she yelled. "A hook to the gut beside the two blows to my face."

"I had fun fucking her," Ramsay taunted, and while Gendry knew he was lying to get a rise out of him, he couldn't stop letting it enrage him. 

"Shut your mouth," he said, pulling him up by the collar of the pink doublet.

"When she births her whelp, you will always wonder if it is mine," Ramsay added.

Arya was quick to reply, "He's lying."

"I know he is lying," Gendry replied without turning to face Arya, and without saying anything else, he punched him hard in the gut, which left the man wheezing, and then he walloped him on the side of the face with a close fist, knocking him out. 

"Do you feel better now?" Arya asked.

"Not really, but at least we don't have to listen to him anymore."

"How are you, _for real_?" he asked, turning back.

"I'm fine, but I will be better once I'm out of these clothes and I have my sword in my hand.

Gendry unstrapped the satchel from his chest and gave it to her. Arya pulled a pair of breeches and a simple leather doublet from it. Setting them on a table, she reached for the back of her dress but had difficulty getting the ties.

Gendry had walked to the stone wall, and he seemed mesmerized by its warmth.

"Help me with this," Arya said, turning around, giving up on trying to undo the knots by herself. 

Gendry walked to her, and he set his hand on her shoulder, his finger pads caressing the soft skin of her neck before busying themselves undoing the ties. 

"You know," he said, his warm breath on her nape making her flesh tingle. "My plans for undressing you in your magic castle were very different from this."

Arya swatted at him but couldn't stop a chuckle. Gendry's hand parting the fabric and touching the bare skin of her waist let her know that he had finished his task, and she turned around, letting the wool dress fall to the floor, leaving her in the thin shift and woolen stockings she wore. 

"There will be time for that," she said with a teasing smile. 

Gendry pulled her to him, and he hugged her, his face burying in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply, and taking in the scent of his woman. 

Pulling himself away, he cradled her face and blurted out, "I love you. You hear? I don't love many things in this world, even fewer people. Fuck! I can barely stand most people I meet. But I love _you_. I am _in love_ with you. I know you married me because of what a witch said she saw in the fire and because it was the only way to get you here and take your home back. I can't stay silent anymore. You are my woman, my wife, and I love you, and you may not want to hear that because, fuck if I know why not, but I love you, and-"

Arya pulled him to her, and she stopped him from continuing with his rant with her lips. The kiss was not long, as they would have liked, since the sound of the battle just outside didn't let them forget what was at stake.

"Shut up," she said, pulling back but keeping her eyes closed.

"I won't, I can't keep what I feel inside anymore."

"I didn't mean that, _stupid_. Just shut up for a moment, so I can tell you that I love you back."

"Truly?" 

Arya nodded, a deep blush coming to her cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. As you can see, we still have a bit more of battle, as this chapter grew so much that I had to break. I am fairly confident there is only one chapter left, as I really don't want to extend it any longer. 
> 
> As much as I would love to post soon, I have to be realistic. I don't think I can post the last chapter in less than three weeks, but I promise to work hard on it. 
> 
> Once more, thank you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!


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